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“I’d rather be shot, I’d rather be blown up and done 
for . . . than exist here without painting.” 

[Page 140] 


The 

WARING GIRLS 


BY 

ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND 

AUTHOR OF “CYNTRA,” “COUNTRY COUSINS,” “THE FORTUNES 
OF PHOEBE,” “the GIRLS OF DUDLEY 
SCHOOL,” ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

E. C. CASWELL 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 

1917 


Copyright, 1917, by 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



SEP; 17 1917 


Printed in the United States of America 


©CLA47S531 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Valentine i 

II. Philip Sketches in Black and White 19 

III. Who Did It? 38 

IV. Mrs. Waking’s News 58 

V. The Unsociable Girl 75 

VI. The Admiral Intervenes .... 90 

VII. Juliet Calls on Miss Snow . . . 106 

VIII. Mildred Makes Plans 122 

IX. A Question 138 

X. Clara Confesses 155 

XI. Mildred at Home 171 

XII. The Thunder Storm 192 

XIII. “It Was the Cat” 210 

XIV. A Pair of Wet Shoes 229 

XV. And What Was In Them! .... 248 

XVI. Two O’clock 268 

XVII. In the Green Woods . . , . . 289 

XVIII. A Letter from Phil 305 




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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Fd rather be shot, Fd rather be blown up and 
done for . . . than exist here without paint- 
ing” ...... Frontispiece ^ 


“Make her very thin and spideiy, Phil, with long 
thin arms” 


FACING 

PAGB 

26 


“Oh, dear, she’s going to be aggravating!” ex- 
claimed Mildred 188 

“Why, it’s Phil!” cried Mildred, “it’s Phil and 

Jimmie” 252 


i 


I 


THE WARING GIRLS 


CHAPTER I 

THE VALENTINE 

E arly in the afternoon of the twelfth of 
February, the door of a certain house in 
New York opened, and a crowd of girls of 
all ages came out and ran down the steps. It was 
a large house facing Gramercy Park, and it had 
long been familiar to old New Yorkers as the 
Sedgwick School. The mothers of many of the 
present pupils had themselves been educated there, 
and they believed that no modern seat of learning, 
managed according to the advanced theories of the 
present day, could equal “the dear old Sedgwick,” 
as it was affectionately called. 

Two girls separated themselves from the others 
and were soon walking up Lexington Avenue. One 
of them was Juliet Waring and the other was her 
dearest friend, Clara Clifford. At least Juliet at 
times considered Clara to be her dearest friend; 
there were other moments when Isabel Nugent 


I 


THE WARING GIRLS 


seemed nearer, and more to be depended upon in 
every way, and there was also Dolly Trench, but 
there was something about the lively and enter- 
prising Clara which Juliet could seldom resist, and 
this was one of the days when her influence made 
itself felt. It was strange, for Juliet Waring was | 
a girl of strong character, but Clara possessed 
many of the attributes which she most admired in 
others and which she herself lacked. The two 
girls were entirely different, which is the under- 
lying cause for many friendships. 

Juliet Waring had lived in New York all her 
life. She was now nearly sixteen, for her birthday 
came in June. She was a tall, solidly built girl, 
with dark hair and eyes, and dark rich coloring in 
her face. She was handsome, rather than pretty, 
but she was perfectly unconscious of her good 
looks. On the contrary, she considered herself to 
be plain in appearance, “really homely,” and 
thought that her two sisters had all the beauty of 
the family. 

Until a little more than two years before this 
story opens, Juliet had been to all intents and 
purposes the eldest of the three Waring children. 
Then a half-sister, whose name was Cyntra, had 
crossed the ocean and come to make her home 
with her American father and his second wife. 
Cyntra had been brought up by her English grand- 


2 


THE VALENTINE 


I 

mother, and had known but little of her American 
relatives and their ways of living, but it was hard 
for her to realize now that she had not always 
I lived with them, so completely one of the Warings 
! had she become. There was a younger girl, 
Mildred, who was eleven years old, and there was 
a little brother of nine. The three sisters loved 
and admired one another with all the ardor of 
affectionate girlhood, while at the same time they 
often differed in opinion. Indeed they sometimes 
quarreled, much like other sisters, but they always 
“made up’* quickly. Their father was an author, 
and their mother kept a little wool shop uptown, 
which added considerably to the family bank 
account but which held her closely occupied. 

Juliet could not remember the time when she had 
not known Clara Clifford. Their mothers had 
been in the same class in the Sedgwick School, and 
it had been the most natural thing in the world 
for the two children to play together, and, when 
the time came, to enter school on the same day. 
Cyntra and Rosamond Rufford, the Warings’ 
cousin, did not admire Clara, but Juliet would 
never admit to them that she was not an ideal 
“intimate friend,” even when Clara was in her 
most irritating mood, as was frequently the case. 

On this frosty day in February the two girls 
were in deep consultation. It might be more exact 

3 


THE WARING GIRLS 


to say that they were having an argument as they 
walked toward home. Clara had a paper in 
hand which she now opened and read again. n 
“It is perfectly fine,” she said. “You have never- 
written anything funnier, and I think you mightli 
send it, Ju. No one will ever guess who wrote itl 
We’ll have it typewritten, and fix it up like a 
valentine and send it by post. It will be such 
fun I We’ll only tell Isabel. It wouldn’t be fair^ 
to keep her out of it, and besides, she’s always 
crazy over anything you write, Juliet. I do think 
you’re the cleverest person I I wish I could write 
those awfully witty things! I can tell you, T 
wouldn’t hide my light under a quart — no, that 
doesn’t sound right — what is it?” I 

“I suppose you mean ‘under a bushel,’ ” said 
Juliet, laughing in spite of herself, “but really,^ 
Clara, I can’t do such a mean thing as send that 
to Miss Snow. Of course I think she is perfectly^ 
horrid, and awfully silly with her black curls. I 
am sure her hair is perfectly white, for L 
saw the edge of it this morning, down under her 
wig.” I 

“Of course it is, and I think anyone who is soj 
silly about hiding her age deserves to be made! 
fun of. As if everyone didn’t know she is aboutj 
a thousand! Ah, Ju, please send it to her!” I 
Clara’s voice was exceedingly sweet and be-j 


THE VALENTINE 


guillng. She took the paper again which she 
I had given back to Juliet, and read the verses 
aloud once more. To the author of them, Clara’s 
mode of reading seemed charming, and diese 
were the verses: 

A Valentine 

Do you know old Miss Snow? 

Such a show! See her go, 

I Sure, slow! Bobs her curls — 

“Yes! No!’’ Hear her moan, 

“Softly, girls! No ‘hello,’ 

Even at the telephone.” 

Have you seen her — Evelina? 

That’s her name, just the same, 

Evelina Snow! 

Black wig, glasses big. 

Such a manner might be Hannah, 

But she’s Evelina Snow! 

Hello! Hello! Old Snow! 

And though I trust she’ll ne’er be mine, 

I sign myself her Valentine! 

“It is simply screamingly funny! And there’s 
no harm in a valentine, Julie dear!” pleaded 
Clara. “Please, please send it!” 

When Clara called her “Julie dear,” it was 
next to impossible for Juliet to refuse her any- 

5 


THE WARING GIRLS 


thing that she asked, and Clara knew it, but to- 
day she still held out. She was perfectly sure 
that it would be wrong and unkind to send the 
verses to Miss Snow. Even though Clara might 
declare that people did not “mind things” in the 
shape of valentines, Juliet knew well that Miss 
Snow would mind this one very much indeed. She 
was a sensitive person, and this open ridicule 
would hurt her deeply. 

“I can’t do it, Clara, for it would be simply 
awful. Mother gave me quite a talking to the 
other day. She said I had the gift of words, and 
that I could be very sarcastic and cutting when 
I chose, and that I must be careful not to get 
into the habit of hurting people.” 

“Oh, I know I” said Clara, easily. “Mothers 
are always lecturing that way. Mamma is just 
as prosy, sometimes. I pretend to listen, but I 
don’t really pay any attention. It pleases Mam- 
ma, and it doesn’t hurt me — ^but I never do it, 
whatever it is.” 

“Well, I think you’d better!” exclaimed Juliet. 
“You could stand being improved a little as well 
as anyone else. I could point out a few small 
things myself.” 

“Who is being sarcastic and cutting now, in 
spite of her mother?” asked Clara coldly. 
“Much good your mother’s lecture has done you, 
6 


THE VALENTINE 


for all that you listen so carefully, and tell me 
that I ought to!’* 

Juliet could not bear Clara’s cold manner, and 
she realized also the truth of her remark. 

“Oh, well. I’m sorry if I am,” she said; “but 
really, Clara, I am not going to send those verses 
to Miss Snow.” 

“All right, then, don’t — but I think you are 
a perfect goose, and intensely disagreeable. Will 
your royal highness allow me to show them to 
Isabel? I expect to see her this afternoon, and 
they are really too good to keep from everybody. 
Isabel is such a dear, always so sweet and good- 
natured. I simply adore Isabel!” 

“Yes, you can show them to her, but not to 
anyone else.” 

Clara said nothing, as she placed the paper in 
one of her books and turned into the street which 
led to her home. Her manner was still cold and 
distant, and Juliet felt uncomfortable. It was 
strange that, however sure she might be that she 
was doing right, Clara could always give her the 
impression that, in her opinion at least, it was 
wrong, and Clara’s opinion counted for much 
with Juliet. And then the remark about Isabel’s 
unfailing good nature rankled, just as Clara had 
intended that it should. Juliet walked home feel- 
ing somewhat unhappy, and knowing perfectly 

7 


THE WARING GIRLS 


well that it was unworthy of her to feel so. 

“I know I’m an idiot, and I just can’t seem to 
help it I” she said to herself, as she climbed the 
stairs. 

The Warings lived in an apartment house on 
Lexington Avenue, rather far downtown. They^ 
were not well off, but their home was comfortably 
furnished and they were by no means in want.' 
If one of the girls needed a new suit, it was neces-| 
sary to think the question over, and select the 
suit with care and with a view to its being worn^ 
more than one season. No one dreamed of 
spending money lavishly. They were taught to be 
economical, and yet they had all that they really 
needed. 

Juliet was to go with her mother that after- 
noon to do some shopping, and she found MrsJ 
Waring waiting for her when she reached home. 
Cyntra had gone up to the wool shop to act as 
saleswoman in her mother’s place. Cyntra was* 
now grown up, and had been out of school morej 
than a year. Mildred was busy with her music 
lesson, and George with something else, so thej 
family did not meet until shortly before dinner,! 
when as usual they all assembled in the living! 
room. f 

Mr. Waring was reading the evening paper." 
Suddenly he gave an exclamation. “Well, Pauline^ 

8 I 


THE VALENTINE 


here is something that will interest you,’’ he said. 

Mrs. Waring, busy at her desk, looked up. 
“What is it? War news?” 

“No, for a wonder I Something about your 
own family.” 

“My family in the paper? What have they 
been doing?” 

“Only dying. Your great-aunt Jane is dead.” 

“Why, George! Is she really? Dear old 
lady 1 I haven’t seen her for at least three years, 
but I heard the other day that she was gradually 
failing. Great-aunt Jane! Just think, she is 
nearly a hundred years old!” 

“Ninety-eight. I suppose that is why she is 
given a special paragraph all to herself, in a tele- 
gram from Philadelphia. Want to see it?” 

He handed the paper to Cyntra who sat near 
him and she passed it to her mother. George 
Junior crossed the room to lean over Mrs. War- 
ing’s shoulder and read it with her. He felt the 
importance of being related to a person who was 
mentioned by telegram in the evening paper, and 
he determined at once that the boys at school 
should learn of it in some way. “Did you see 
last night’s Postf^ he would ask casually the next 
day. “A very old lady has died in Philadelphia, 
nearly a hundred years old. She was my mother’s 
great-aunt.” 


9 


THE WARING GIRLS 


! 

■I 

In the meantime the paper was going from one 
to the other. 

“Don’t you feel quite grand, mother?” asked 
Mildred. “But I do wish they had said that she 
was the great-aunt of Mrs. George Waring, the! 
wife of the author. They might have, just as well.”^ 
Everyone laughed, for Mildred’s tone was so ! 
regretful. | 

“You have a keen business sense, Mildred,”J 
said her father. “You believe in publicity. They 
might at the same time have mentioned the name 
of my latest book and its cut-rate price in theji 
department stores.” .« 

“Is it necessary for me to go over to the 
funeral, George?” asked Mrs. Waring. “I sup^ 
pose Mildred will go.” This was Mrs. Rufford," 
Mrs. Waring’s sister, for whom her younger 
daughter was named. “I feel that perhaps I 
should, but what do you think? You know, our 
mother was very fond of her.” ^ 

“Was she your mother’s aunt. Mamma ?’.L| 
asked Cyntra. fj 

“Yes, my great-aunt, and your great-great-aunt" 
or rather, Juliet’s and Mildred’s. I always for^ 
get that my relations are not really yours^ 
Cyntra.” | 

“So do I,” said the girl, softly. “I am glad' 
you do, too!” I 


lO 


THE VALENTINE 


“I think you had better go, Pauline,” said Mr. 
Waring. ‘‘You can easily go and come in one 
day if you want to, and I think you should pay 
the old lady that mark of respect. It is cer- 
tainly not very much to do.” 

“Then I will get you to take my place in the 
shop again, Cyntra. It is such a busy time. I 
suppose the funeral will be tomorrow — or no, the 
day after, probably. Let me see the paper again. 
‘Philadelphia, February 12. Miss Jane More- 
land died today at the advanced age of ninety- 
eight, in the house on Eighth Street in which she 
was born and had passed her entire life.* It 
doesn’t say about the funeral, does it? Perhaps 
Mildred will have heard something. I will go 
telephone to her now.” 

And then the family began to talk of other 
things, so remote seemed Great-aunt Jane, and 
her death at that advanced age so natural an 
event, and of so little moment to them — and yet 
it was an event that definitely changed the course 
of their lives. 

Clyde Corners was not many miles from New 
York. Long a quiet little country village, the 
town had grown considerably of late years. Near 
the railroad station it seemed like a small city, 
for there were business blocks of brick, a fine 


II 


THE WARING GIRLS 


post-office building, and paved streets, but a short 
walk brought one to a different quarter of the 
town where it was still the country. The roads 
were broad, and were shaded in summer by fine 
old trees. The houses, some modern and some 
with a touch of age, were surrounded by well 
kept lawns and gardens. The roads ran up over 
the hills and led finally to the Palisades. A little 
river flowed through Clyde Corners and gave the 
place its name. It was a narrow, winding stream, 
beautiful at all seasons of the year in its gentle 
course, and loved by all who knew it well, as 
rivers are ever loved. 

The people of Clyde Corners presented the 
usual variety of type to be found in all suburban 
places. There were the staid “old inhabitants” 
who had moved out from New York long ago 
and had practically founded the village, and who 
now, though somewhat attracted by the newer 
modes of life, were striving still to keep to the 
more conservative ideals of the past; there were 
the modern, well-to-do, and newly married; 
and there were those who looked on, living 
a life of their own, critical, watchful, but not 
envious. 

Lyman Street ran north and south, and at 
right angles to Main Street, by which one left the 
station. About half a mile to the right from the 


12 


THE VALENTINE 


corner of these two streets was an old house. It 
had once been white but it was now a dingy 
brownish gray, so sadly did It need fresh paint. 
Other repairs were necessary also, and the garden 
at the back was overgrown with weeds. The 
neighbors glancing In would shake their heads and 
say that if something were not done soon to the 
old house it would surely fall to pieces, but noth- 
ing was done, and the house stood empty and 
I dilapidated. It had been let for many years, but 
I the last tenants had moved away at least four 
years ago, and since then nothing had been done 
to keep it up, and it had stood vacant and de- 
serted. 

Admiral Kent lived next door in a square, brown 
house with a French roof and a cupola. Since he 
retired from the Navy he had lived at Clyde 
Corners, and with him were his sister, her chil- 
dren, and a cousin. Miss Snow, who made her 
home with them. The Admiral had never mar- 
ried, and he called himself a “set old bachelor,” 
but the nephew and niece to whom he stood in 
the place of a father would always keep him from 
becoming too settled In his ways. 

One evening toward the middle of February 
the Admiral sat in his accustomed place by the 
library table, reading the newspaper which had 
just been brought in. It was a comfortable room, 

13 


THE WARING GIRLS 


although it was furnished with simplicity. The 
table by which he sat was covered with books and 
pamphlets, and the lamp had a green shade. 
There was another, smaller table with a lamp, 
where his sister was seated, busy with some work. 
In a dark corner of the room, with a large book 
the size of a great dictionary open on a stand 
in front of her, was a girl of about twelve. She 
was deeply engaged with the book although she 
was not reading it in the usual way, for she passed 
the tips of her fingers lightly across its pages. 
Presently she closed it, rose from her chair, and 
moved swiftly across the room to her uncle. She 
stretched out her hands from side to side as she 
walked, and she held her head thrown back. As 
she came more fully into the light one who 
watched her would have seen that her hair was 
fair and smooth, that her features were delicate 
and regular in shape, and that she was pretty, al- 
though her eyes were peculiar. They were 
strangely colorless, and they were utterly with- 
out expression, for Alice Cornish was blind. 

She seated herself on the arm of her uncle’s 
chair. “Any news to-night. Uncle Frank?” she 
asked. 

“Yes, too much, my dear, too much!” said Ad- 
miral Kent, shaking his head. “It is a cruel war ! 
But here is a piece of local news that is interest- 
14 


THE VALENTINE 


ing to us, Mary,” turning to his sister. “Do you 
remember old Miss Jane Moreland who owned 
the house next door. She inherited it from her 
mother who used to live there, but old Miss 
Moreland herself never did, I believe.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Cornish, “but I haven’t 
heard of her for years. Is she still alive?” 

“That is just my news. She died to-day in 
Philadelphia, ninety-eight years old! What an 
age to live to be ! This means that the old house 
will now pass into other hands. Perhaps some- 
one will do it up and come there to live. I wish 
[ they would, for I hate to have the old place go 
to rack and ruin the way it is doing now. It 
would be very pleasant, too, to have some nice 
neighbors.” 

“If they are nice,” sighed a melancholy voice. 
The Admiral’s cousin. Miss Snow, had entered 
the room while they were talking. 

“Oh, well, they probably would be,” said he, 
turning over his paper. 

I Miss Snow gave a heavy sigh. “My experi- 
ence has been that there are fewer nice people 
^ than others in this dreary world,” she observed, 
as she seated herself and opened her knitting- 
bag. “The girls today were simply unbearable!” 

“Tell me about them. Cousin Evie 1” said Alice. 

; She drew up a chair and sat down. “Was Juliet 

I 15 


THE WARING GIRLS 


Waring there, and was she perfectly hateful?’’ 

Miss Snow was instructor in mathematics at 
the Sedgwick School. She was an excellent math- 
ematician, but she was not well fitted to be a 
teacher. To begin with, she did not care for 
girls, but besides this she was an exceedingly 
nervous person. She was peculiar, too, in ap- 
pearance, for the illness which had affected her 
nervous system had caused her hair to fall out, 
and she was therefore obliged to wear a wig. Al- 
though she disliked girls in general, she was ex- 
tremely fond of her little blind cousin, and her 
face softened as she looked at her. 

“Yes, Juliet Waring was there. She is always 
there,” she added irritably. “I do wish she would 
once in a while be absent. She is the most in- 
tensely stupid person about algebra I have ever 
known. I have never in all my experience en- 
countered such a dull mind, and yet they say she 
is so bright in other ways. She writes wonderful 
essays and compositions, and all sorts of funny 
poems, though I have never read any of them. 
Her father is the author — George Waring, you 
know — and she seems to have inherited his gift 
for writing. I am quite sure she writes things 
about me. I felt certain today that she was 
going to do it as soon as she left the class- 
room.” 


i6 


THE VALENTINE 


“Oh, Evelina, of course she would not do a 
thing like that!” exclaimed Mrs. Cornish. 

“Why, she has done it before about other 
people,” retorted Miss Snow, with asperity. “I 
fully expect her, sooner or later, to do it about 
me.” 

Supper was announced, and nothing more was 
said about Juliet Waring. Robert Cornish, 
Alice’s brother, came down from his own room 
where he had been studying, and the family went 
to the dining room. Robert was seventeen, and 
this winter he was studying hard, for he was to 
enter college in the fall. He looked like Alice, 
except that his eyes were bright and clear. She 
had lost her sight when she was but a few months 
old, and had therefore never been conscious of 
seeing. They both closely resembled their uncle, 
the Admiral. He was a fine-looking man, whose 
eyes suggested the sea on which he had passed the 
greater part of his life. When he smiled his face 
expressed a singular sweetness and an almost boy- 
ish youthfulness. His hair was gray, but his 
heart was still young. 

Alice had much to think of that evening. The 
name of Juliet Waring had long held a singular 
fascination for her. Miss Snow had often spoken 
of this girl, whom she seemed especially to dis- 
like. Alice sometimes wondered if there were 

17 


THE WARING GIRLS 


any real reason for it, or if it were merely one 
of her cousin’s peculiarities, of which all of Miss 
Snow’s family were only too well aware. 

“I do wish I could see that girl for myself,” 
she thought; “then I should know just what she is 
really like.” She always spoke of “seeing.” She 
had been brought up to think and to act as much 
like other persons as possible. She did not go to 
school, but her mother taught her at home, and 
she easily kept abreast of girls of her own age. 
“Juliet Waring is the girl who had the English 
sister come home to live. That was the most 
wonderful thing to have happen ! I wonder how 
I should feel if it had happened to us. I wish 
I knew those Waring girls. I might like them 
even though Cousin Evie doesn’t. We don’t al- 
ways like or dislike the same people.” 


CHAPTER II 


PHILIP SKETCHES IN BLACK AND WHITE 



iHE children of Mrs. Waring and Mrs. 


Rufford were more like brothers and sis- 


ters than cousins. Now that Rosamond 
Rufford had gone to England to live, only the two 
boys, Nicholas Junior and Philip, were left at 
home. Nickie, as he was always called, had grad- 
uated from Columbia and now filled a position 
of some responsibility in Wall Street, greatly to 
the satisfaction of his father, who was a typical 
New York business man and who wished his sons 
to be the same. In Nickie’s case it would be a 
simple matter to bring this about, for he had al- 
ready shown that he possessed considerable busi- 
ness ability, but Philip was different. The boy 
bated business and everything pertaining to it; 
all that he cared for was to paint. 

He had early given evidence of this, for even 
when he was a little fellow of seven or eight he 
could draw pictures that were unlike those of 
most children, and he was intensely susceptible 
to color. When he was about sixteen he had 


THE WARING GIRLS 


spent a year in Europe, traveling with his aunt, 
Miss Rufford. He had not been well, and the 
doctor had ordered a year out of school. The 
picture galleries in the various cities had been 
of absorbing interest and delight to him. They 
had given strength to his love for the beautiful, 
and he had come home at the end of the year fully 
determined to be an artist and nothing else. But 
his father would not permit it. On the contrary, 
he uttered those cold words of common sense 
which are so hard to listen to when one is young 
and ardent and full of the conviction that he has 
a talent that may possibly be genius. Mr. Ruf- 
ford considered it to be extremely foolish for 
a man to make art or literature his sole profes- 
sion. 

They had one of their inevitable discussions 
on the subject on the evening of the twelfth of 
February. They had finished dinner and the 
father and son were in the library, Mr. Rufford 
smoking and reading the evening paper, and 
Philip, as was usual in his spare moments, en- 
gaged with a drawing pad. Unknown to his 
father he was sketching him in profile as he sat in 
his big chair, one leg thrown over the other, the 
paper in one hand and a cigar in the other. Mrs. 
Rufford at her desk in the corner was writing to 
Rosamond in England. Nickie was dining out. 

20 


PHILIP SKETCHES 


“What are you doing, Phil?” asked his father. 

“Drawing, Dad.” Philip’s tone was that of a 
person absorbed in his task. 

“You’ll have to get to work on something else 
pretty soon, young man,” said Mr. Rufford. He 
spoke kindly. He was an affectionate father, one 
who wished to do the best that was possible for his 
children, but to do what he considered the best. 
His family had always been business men. There 
was no reason on earth why both his sons should 
not be the same, according to his way of thinking. 
He turned over his paper. “You’re nearly nine- 
teen, aren’t you? You’ll be through college in 
three years. If not business, Phil, a profession. 
Which shall it be?” 

“Art.” 

“Nonsense I I don’t mean a profession of that 
sort. There’s no money in pictures or books. 
You needn’t think you can earn your living in that 
way. It wouldn’t buy you bread, let alone any 
butter to spread on it — and you’re rather fond 
of butter, my boy, both literally and metaphori- 
cally speaking. Somehow I don’t seem to see 
you without at least a few of the luxuries of life — 
and you needn’t expect them from me I You have 
got to go through college and then to work. I 
will give you the best education in my power, but 
after that I shall expect you to support yourself. 

21 


THE WARING GIRLS 


And you won’t be able to do it by painting pic- 
tures. In these days of high prices — and things 
will be far worse even than they are now in the 
reaction after the war is over — ^you will need 
something else than that to live on, even if you 
only have yourself to support, not to speak of a 
possible wife and family.” 

“Then I won’t marry,” muttered Phil. 

“Stuff and nonsense, my boy!” said his father, 
flicking the ashes from his cigar and turning his 
face to look affectionately at his son. “You don’t 
know what you’re talking about. I said pretty 
much the same thing until I happened to go to 
Philadelphia to a ball, and there I met your 
mother! If I were an artist or an author where 
should we all be? Not living in a fairly decent 
house in New York with plenty of servants, and 
good food, and you rather well dressed, my fine 
fellow, rather well dressed! Look at the War- 
ingsl Your uncle George is one of the best fel- 
lows I ever knew. There is nothing he wouldn’t 
do for his wife and children except give up writ- 
ing books and become a business man, so your 
aunt has to be the business man of the family and 
keep a shop ! With an example like that right in 
our own family you needn’t think for one instant 
that I’ll give my consent to your being an artist 
only. You can paint a little in your spare time if 


22 


PHILIP SKETCHES 


you want to, but you’ll learn to do something else 
besides.” 

Philip made no reply. He carefully finished his 
sketch. He rose and glanced at his father who, 
having said all he had to say, was now deep in 
reports of the stock market. Philip walked over 
to his mother and laid the sketch on her desk. 

“Send it to Rose with my love,” he whispered. 
“She’ll like it. I’m going out awhile, mother 
mine.” 

“Where are you going, dear?” 

“Oh, just round to the Cliffords’ I Mort asked 
me to come in. I won’t be very late.” 

Mrs. Rufford said nothing aloud. She went on 
with her letter to Rosamond : 

Your father and Phil have been having one of their 
everlasting discussions [she wrote]. Not exactly a dis- 
cussion either, for Phil said very little. He sends you the 
enclosed sketch. It is good, isn’t it? The dear boy cer- 
tainly has wonderful talent. I wish I could persuade 
your father to let him study with some big man, or at 
one of the schools, but I can’t! Phil has gone to the 
Cliffords’ now. Morton seems to have taken a fancy to 
him. I am rather sorry. They are so rich! It isn’t 
good for Phil, just as it wasn’t good for Nickie, but I am 
afraid to oppose it too strongly. 

When Philip reached the Cliffords’ home, a 
large and handsome house on the corner of one 

23 


THE WARING GIRLS 


of the cross streets and Madison Avenue, he was 
asked to go up to the den. One man servant re- 
moved his coat and relieved him of his hat, an- 
other led the way up stairs, although the visitor 
knew it perfectly well. The den was at the back 
on the third floor and belonged especially to Mor- 
ton, but Clara was allowed to use it as much as 
she wished when “the fellows” were not thei’e. 
Tonight, although Philip was expected — perhaps 
because of it — Clara was seated by one of the 
lamps with some work. She was a pretty girl 
with fair hair, always beautifully arranged, and 
large gray eyes. Her manner was demure, and 
she had an odd way of clipping her words that 
her friends thought very fascinating. 

“You’re just the person I most want to see!” 
she exclaimed, as Phil came in. “Could anything 
have happened better?” 

Philip was feeling a little sore. These discus- 
sions with his father, which always ended in a 
manner unsatisfactory to himself, were wearing, 
to say the least. Philip had the sensitive nature 
and highly-strung nervous temperament which 
usually belong to one who cares chiefly for the 
ideal rather than the practical. He was every 
day growing more unhappy and restless. He was 
in a state of revolt, while at the same time he was 
provoked with himself for being so. He knew 

24 


PHILIP SKETCHES 


his father was thinking of his good as he was 
capable of seeing it, but Philip was angry with 
him for being so blind to his real needs. 

“I could do good work,” he had said to him- 
self, as he walked from one house to the other. 
*‘If he would only let me, I could make him proud 
of me. I’ll never go into business. I’d rather 
starve.” But he had never tried starving. 

When therefore he sat down in the Cliffords’ 
luxurious room, and Clara informed him that he 
was the one person whom she wished to see, it 
was as balm to his wounded spirit. His face 
lighted up — he had an attractive face, the expres- 
sion of which changed with every passing emo- 
tion. His eyes were large and at times dreamy, 
at other times brimming with fun, and again with 
enterprise and vigor. They were dark eyes, and 
his hair was almost black. He was a handsome 
boy, but he did not look strong. 

“You have got to do something to amuse me,” 
said Clara, “and also to oblige me! I have 
been wishing I could make pictures myself, 
and then I thought of you. Mort said you might 
be in.” 

“What do you want?” asked Philip, smiling 
at her. Here at least was someone who appre- 
ciated his gift. What a nice girl Clara was, any- 
way! Always pleasant, never getting queer, the 

25 


THE WARING GIRLS 


way his cousin Juliet did at times! “ni do any- 
thing you like.’’ 

“Good! It’s something you like, too, Phil, or 
I wouldn’t ask you. Here’s a big sheet of paper. 
Can you do them with a pen? I want some funny 
pictures round the edge. Not in the center at all. 
Just leave that a blank space.” 

“What on earth — oh, I suppose it’s a valentine. 
Who’s the lucky fellow that’s going to get it?” 

“Never you mind! You just do as I tell you, 
and never breathe that you had anything to do 
with it, will you? Promise!” 

“Oh, I’ll promise all right,” said Phil, as he 
chose his pen from the collection which Clara 
put before him. Morton had gone off to get a 
book from his own room and the two were alone. 
“Now, what shall it be?” 

“Well, I want a picture of a woman standing 
in front of a mirror and putting on a wig.” 

“Gee whiz! For a valentine? I thought it 
was going to be Cupids and hearts and darts and 
all the rest of it.” 

“Oh, I shall want them, too. But I must have 
the lady and the wig. Make her very thin and 
spidery, Phil, with long thin arms. And do her 
again with the wig on, standing at the telephone. 
And make her again going upstairs with her spi- 
dery hand on the bannister and she stooping way 
26 



“Make her very thin 


and spidery, Phil, 


with long thin 


arms. 






PHILIP SKETCHES 


over as she walks up, like this.” And she pre- 
tended to be walking upstairs. 

‘T call that rather a large order for one sheet 
of paper and just round the edge of it.” 

“Oh, but you can do it! Those tiny sketches 
that you do, Phil, are perfectly wonderful. Don’t 
you know those you did of the crowd at East 
Codbury last summer? They were little bits of 
figures, and yet each one could be recognized. I 
showed them to Papa and Mamma and they were 
perfectly entranced. They both said you ought 
to be an artist and nothing else. Papa said if 
you were his son he would leave no stone un- 
turned to help you to be a great painter.” 

Philip sketched in silence. Very different from 
his own father’s attitude of mind, he said to him- 
self. He did not take the trouble to remember 
that the circumstances were different. If he were 
Mr. Clifford’s son he would be heir to a very 
large fortune. There would be no necessity for 
him to learn to support himself. He felt indig- 
nant with his father, and he waited eagerly for 
Clara’s next remark. She did not disappoint 
him. 

“I wish Mort could do something of this kind ! 
If you were my brother I should be awfully proud 
of you, Phil. I should think you’d send your 
things to Life. I’m sure they would take them. 
27 


THE WARING GIRLS 


Oh, that’s splendid! That’s perfectly fine! You 
always understand exactly what I want. I never 
saw anything so funny!” 

“I’d give three cents — indeed I might go as 
high as five — to know which of the fellows is 
going to get this,” said Phil. “I’ll be on the look- 
out.” 

Clara laughed softly and gayly. “And if you 
do come across it,” she said, “don’t forget you’re 
not to breathe a word.” 

“Oh, I know the etiquette of valentines,” said 
Phil. “You needn’t worry.” 

The sketches were soon made and Clara bore 
away the sheet of paper in triumph. Morton had 
returned and had been shown the pictures, and he 
too had supposed that they were intended for 
“one of the fellows.” Clara laughingly allowed 
him to think so. She went in search of Miss 
Prince, who might or might not be in the house. 
Miss Prince came every day to attend to Mrs. 
Clifford’s social engagements, to be her secretary, 
her companion, or her housekeeper. She was a 
very useful person, and she frequently acted as 
secretary for Mr. Clifford. She had her own 
room in the establishment, and here Clara found 
her at work on the typewriter. It did not take 
long to explain what was desired, and she good- 
naturedly promised to insert in typewriting on 
28 


PHILIP SKETCHES 


the sheet of paper the lines of poetry which Clara 
brought to her. 

“And then will you address it, Miss Prince?” 
said Clara. “It’s just a joke, you know. Address 
it to Miss Evelina Snow, the Sedgwick School — 
no, put Clyde Corners. That’s where she lives.” 

“One of the girls, I suppose, that you have a 
joke with about wigs,” said Miss Prince, as she 
took down the address. 

“A dear old girl!” murmured Clara. And 
Miss Prince, who was a rather literal person, sup- 
posed it really to be some schoolgirl’s joke that 
was going to one of Clara’s friends. 

“And please put a stamp on it and put it with 
the letters to be posted,” added Clara, as she 
turned to leave the room. “I’m ever so much 
obliged. You’re a perfect dear. Miss Prince. I 
do think you’re the nicest person 1” Which 
pleased Miss Prince so much that she took the 
trouble, after she had typewritten the poem, to 
paste around the edge of the sheet some paper 
lace which she happened to have in a drawer of 
her desk and which made it look more like a 
valentine. She smiled as she folded it and placed 
it in a large envelope. 

“Girls will be girls,” she said to herself. 
“They do love a joke. How they will all laugh 
over this I Those pictures are capital.” 

29 


THE WARING GIRLS 


She went down stairs with all the letters that 
were finished and ready to go, and placed them 
on the hall table for someone to post who might 
be leaving the house before she did. She had 
been asked to stay late to do some work for Mr. 
Clifford. 

“I shan’t even tell Isabel who did the pic- 
tures, or anything about it,” said Clara to herself, 
as she went back to the den. “It will be ever so 
much safer in case anything is asked. But noth- 
ing will be asked. Of course old Snow isn’t going 
to tell anybody she got such a valentine. She’d 
be ashamed to give away such a good joke on 
herself. And she certainly deserves all she will 
getl She is simply hateful. And I don’t mind 
playing a bit of a joke on Juliet, either. Juliet’s 
good opinion of herself needs to be taken down 
a little. Of course she is clever and does write 
some pretty good things, and I am sure I am al- 
ways perfectly ready to say so, but she does think 
a good deal of herself. She thinks she’s just 
about right. The idea of putting on such a vir- 
tuous air and saying she wouldn’t for anything 
hurt Miss Snow’s feelings! Stuff and nonsense! 
If she was going to feel that way she oughtn’t to 
have written the poem in the first place. And it 
isn’t only that particular thing about Juliet! 
There are a lot of other things in which she needs 

30 


PHILIP SKETCHES 


to be taken down, and I am going to get even 
with her, no matter what happens.” 

Then she rejoined her brother and Philip, and 
they passed a merry evening. Phil felt much 
more cheerful when he went home. After all it 
was not so strange, he thought, that he wished 
to give his whole life to the study of art. If a 
bright, clever girl like Clara thought his ability 
so great that it ought to be recognized, he was 
not so far out of the way in his own opinion of 
it. Somehow or other his father must be brought 
to see the matter as he did. If he would not — 
well there were other ways out of a business 
career. When he was twenty-one he would be 
his own master. He would wait until he was 
twenty-one, and then — 

He whistled softly to himself as he ran up the 
steps. And then I 

The next day, Saturday, the postman was un- 
usually late in reaching Admiral Kent’s house at 
Clyde Corners, and when he finally appeared he 
told Alice Cornish, who opened the door, that 
it was because it was Valentine’s Day, and he had 
extra mail to deliver in consequence. 

“But tomorrow is the fourteenth,” she said, as 
she held out both hands to receive the letters. 
“This isn’t Valentine’s Day I” 

31 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“That’s so, but they’re all sending them early 
because of tomorrow being Sunday. Don’t you 
notice how big your mail is?” 

“So it is!” said Alice, clasping the pile of let- 
ters and papers. “Oh, I do hope there are some 
valentines among them!” 

I She carried them to her uncle, who separated 
them for each member of the family and then 
gave them back to her to deliver. She loved to 
do such errands, and she never forgot the order 
in which they were placed in little criss-cross piles 
above one another. She went to the different 
rooms, first leaving those for her brother Robert 
on the hall table for him to see as soon as he 
should come in. 

^ “Of course there are some valentines for him,” 
she thought. “Lots of the girls like Bobby. I 
feel the fancy edges of the envelopes. Oh, I 
hope I am going to have some myself ! But even 
though there are none now for me there may be 
some this afternoon. There is another chance 
to get them then, and again on Monday 
morning. It is great, having Valentine’s Day 
come on a Sunday, for it makes it last so much 
longer.” 

Finally she knocked upon her cousin’s door. 
Miss Snow was not yet up. She usually rested 
late on Saturday morning, for on other days she 

32 


PHILIP SKETCHES 


was obliged to take an early train to New York. 
She called to Alice to come in. 

“I am feeling perfectly wretched this morn- 
ing/’ she announced. “Those girls were too 
much for me yesterday. I really feel as if I must 
give up teaching before long, but I can’t bear to 
do it on your Uncle Frank’s account. I must 
pay my share of the expenses, and I need the 
salary to do it. What are all these things? Ad- 
vertisements and bills and circulars, I suppose! 
Most of them seem to be addressed in typewrit- 
mg. 

“Perhaps some of them are valentines,” sug- 
gested Alice. 

“Who would send me a valentine? Oh!” 
There had been the sound of crackling paper as 
she drew forth something from its envelope, then 
her exclamation, followed by silence. 

“What is it. Cousin Evie?” Alice was breath- 
less with suspense. Her cousin’s “oh!” had cer- 
tainly sounded peculiar. “Is it a big bill?” 

“It is not a bill at all! It is far worse. Oh! 
Oh! This is cruel!” 

“What is it? Cousin Evie, can’t you tell me?” 

“I shall never tell you ! This is the end. This 
finishes me. Run, call your mother!” 

Alice needed no second bidding. She hurried 
from the room and went in search of her mother, 

33 


THE WARING GIRLS 


who was just coming from the kitchen. “Oh, 
mother!” she exclaimed. “Do go up to Cousin 
Evie as soon as you possibly can 1 She wants you. 
I don’t know what has happened, but something 
dreadful. She got it in the mail. She won’t tell 
me what it is, except that it isn’t a bill. She sent 
me for you. Do hurry, mother!” 

“Dear me, what can it be?” sighed Mrs. Corn- 
ish. “I trust she isn’t going to have one of her 
nervous attacks in consequence. She hasn’t 
seemed well lately. Don’t come up, Alice. If 
anything is really the matter it is better for me 
to be alone with her. And don’t say anything 
about it to your uncle, yet. He feels so badly 
when she takes things hard. I hate to have him 
worried.” 

She disappeared in the direction of Miss 
Snow’s room, and Alice remained in ignorance of 
what was happening and also of the cause of 
the disturbance. She concluded, however, that 
Miss Snow was suffering even more than was 
usual, for her mother came out to get a hot water 
bag, and later for some quieting medicine. Miss 
Snow did not leave her room either that day or 
the next, and on Monday she did not go to school. 
This had never happened before. She had al- 
ways managed to go regularly to school in spite 
of her ill health. 


34 


PHILIP SKETCHES 


A few days later, Alice Cornish sat in the win- 
dow of her cousin’s room. She was knitting 
busily, for she had been taught to use her hands 
in every possible way. It was a fine afternoon but 
the wind was high. The house shook with every 
gust, and a shutter on the empty house next door 
banged to and fro. The windows of their own 
house rattled, and it seemed as though March 
had already come. 

*T can’t stand that banging blind another min- 
ute!” exclaimed Miss Snow, from the bed. 
“Someone will have to go in and fasten it.” 

“But we can’t fasten it,” said Mrs. Cornish. 
“It is on an upstairs window, and no one could 
reach it except by a ladder. I don’t know, 
though — ” she came to the window where Alice 
was sitting — “perhaps Bobby could climb up to 
the roof of the piazza in some way and get at it. 
Why, there are some people going in at the gate 
now! I wonder if the house has been taken at 
last! Or perhaps old Miss Moreland left it to 
them!” 

She stood behind the muslin curtain look- 
ing out, but not where she herself could be 
seen. Alice sat close to the window, her face, 
full of eagerness and interest, turned toward the 
house next door. 

“Oh, mother, tell me about them!” she ex- 

3S 


THE WARING GIRLS 


claimed. “How many people are there, and what 
are they like? Are they old or young?” 

“There are four, and they are very nice look- 
ing. A lady and a gentleman and two young 
girls.” 

“How old are the girls?” 

“Oh, I should say that one was about sixteen 
and the other considerably younger — ^perhaps 
about your age. They are both rather pretty, 
but they don’t look at all alike. The man has a 
bunch of keys. Yes, they are opening the door 
and going in.” 

“I wish they would fasten the shutter!” 
groaned Miss Snow, as the blind banged again. 

“Perhaps they will,” said Mrs. Cornish, cheer- 
fully. “If they don’t, Bobby can go in there and 
fix it before night. There!” she added after a 
little while, “they are fastening it now.” 

“Then perhaps they are quite nice people, af- 
ter all!” said Miss Snow, with a sigh of relief. 
“I am sure I hope they are, but there’s no use 
counting on it.” 

Mrs. Cornish now left the room, but Alice re- 
mained at the window, her face turned toward 
the house next door. A little later, in a quiet 
interval between the gusts of wind, she heard the 
front door being closed, and steps on the piazza 
and then on the path. She heard voices, too, 

36 


PHILIP SKETCHES 


and laughter, but she could not distinguish what 
was being said. She stood in the window, as if 
she were looking down. 

‘T think they are going now,’* she said aloud. 
And to herself she added, “Oh, I hope they are 
coming there to live, and that those girls will 
be my friends 1” 


CHAPTER III 


WHO DID IT? 

J ULIET reached scnooi on Monday morn- 
ing only two minutes before it opened. She 
had barely time to take off her hat and coat 
and go to her seat when the bell was rung and 
the usual exercises began. Clara Clifford, whose 
seat was next to hers, smiled in greeting but said 
nothing, for it was against the rules to hold any 
intercourse during this period. At the close of 
the Bible reading and the prayer with which 
Miss Sedgwick opened school, it was her custom 
to announce the various classes and the lectures 
and events of the day. The girls would then 
rise and go to the recitation rooms. Today, 
however. Miss Sedgwick requested them to re- 
main seated for a few minutes, as she had some- 
thing to say to the assembled school. The doors 
into the next room stood open at this time, and 
the girls of the Junior Department, whose room 
was downstairs, were always there during Bible 
hour. Consequently there were at least fifty girls 
within hearing. 


38 


WHO DID IT? 


They all looked up, and all saw at once that 
Miss Sedgwick held a paper in her hand. It was 
a large sheet of paper, and when she held it up 
with its ornamented side toward the school, they 
could see that it was some sort of a valentine. 
Of course everyone knew that yesterday had been 
Valentine’s Day, and missives had been passing 
about among them ever since they reached school. 
No one had overlooked the day of the month. 

The large sheet of paper seemed to have some 
typewritten lines in its center, while all around 
them were devices in black and white, such as 
hearts and Cupids and bows and arrows, the 
whole being ornamented with an edging of paper 
lace. There were some other little sketches also 
in black and white, for it was a large sheet of 
paper. No one was near enough to Miss Sedg- 
wick to read the lines. Her desk stood on a 
platform slightly raised above the level of the 
floor and near one of the front windows. 

Miss Sedgwick’s face was grave and her man- 
ner was different from usual. She spoke quietly 
as she always did. Her voice was so clear and 
her enunciation so distinct that she was plainly 
heard even at the end of the other room. Both 
rooms were perfectly still. Every girl, large or 
small, knew in an instant that “something was 
up.” 


39 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“This valentine,” she said, “has been received 
by one of the teachers. I will ask the person or 
persons who sent it — either one girl or more, as 
the case may be — to come to me before twelve 
o’clock, for I should like to speak to them about 
it. I have no doubt that it was done thought- 
lessly, and entirely by way of a joke. I am quite 
ready to listen to and to accept any fair explana- 
tion, and as usual I trust absolutely to your honor. 
I feel quite sure that before twelve o’clock the 
matter will be entirely cleared up. You may now 
go to your classes.” 

Juliet, for one intense moment, thought that 
Clara must have played her false and sent the 
verses to Miss Snow after all. She glanced at 
her friend, and then at once dismissed the idea 
from her mind. It was outrageous of her, she 
told herself, to have thought it even for an in- 
stant. Clara was sitting there, the picture of in- 
terested Innocence. She gazed at the valentine 
as it was held up, apparently with the utter un- 
consciousness of one who saw it for the first 
time. She did not look at Juliet, nor indeed at 
anyone but Miss Sedgwick. Their seats were in 
the last row, so they were quite far from the 
Principal’s desk. Juliet’s glance rested next on 
Isabel Nugent. She thought Isabel looked “a 
little queer.” Could she have done it? But no, 
40 


WHO DID IT? 


not possibly! Isabel was not the kind to do a 
thing like that. She was more apt to follow the 
lead of others than to think for herself. Juliet 
concluded that someone else had also written 
some verses, and after wondering which teacher 
had been the victim, she turned her attention to 
her studies and for a little while thought no more 
about valentines. She was glad, however, that 
she had refused to send her poem to Miss Snow. 
It would have been silly, and it would probably 
have gotten her into a serious scrape. 

There was no algebra class that morning, for 
Miss Snow was not there. As this was unusual, 
the girls at once surmised that she was the teacher 
who had received the valentine. Nothing could 
be said, however, until the short intermission at 
eleven o’clock. The school then had five min- 
utes for conversation, and of course tongues at 
once became busy. Who could have sent it? 
Had anyone been seen going to speak to Miss 
Sedgwick? And of course it was to “Old Snow!” 
She was the only teacher who would make a fuss 
about a valentine. The others would have taken 
it as a joke. The girls all compared notes, so far 
as it was possible to do so in the five minutes, and 
all agreed that it must have been “Old Snow.” 

But who had done it, and what had been said 
on the valentine? 


41 


THE WARING GIRLS 


Oddly enough, Juliet and Clara did not meet 
during the five minutes’ intermission. Clara and 
Isabel had at once hastened downstairs to speak 
to one of the younger girls on what seemed to 
be important business, and Juliet, who had tried 
to follow them, had been stopped by someone 
else. They did not return until the bell rang to 
announce that recess was over. 

When school was dismissed each girl was ask- 
ing every other girl if anyone had been known 
to seek an interview with Miss Sedgwick. No 
one had been seen to do so, and what was more, 
Miss Sedgwick had grown more and more grave 
and thoughtful as the morning had worn on and 
the afternoon had begun. However, nothing fur- 
ther had been said, so perhaps the matter would 
blow over. This was a distinct disappointment 
to most of the girls, who dearly loved a “fuss” 
provided that they themselves were not in it — 
or at least were not “caught.” Juliet and Clara 
again .walked part of the way home together, 
and Juliet again expressed her satisfaction that the 
verses which she had written had not been seat. 

“You’re no sport,” was Clara’s reply. 

“It would have been funny if Miss Snow had 
gotten two valentines,” remarked Juliet. “I’m 
sure Miss Snow was the one. Don’t you think 
so?” 


42 


WHO DID IT? 


‘‘Probably, for she is such an old cat,” re- 
turned Clara. “Wasn’t she too maddening Fri- 
day? I could scarcely stand her, and as for you, 
Ju, you didn’t stand her at all!” 

“I know I didn’t,” said Juliet soberly. “I’m 
sorry.” 

“Sorry I” 

“Yes. She seemed to be sort of suffer- 
ing.” 

“Huh I Rather late in the day for you to be 
sorry! Well, good-bye! I think she deserves 
all she gets.” And Clara turned into the street 
where their ways parted. 

Juliet found no one at home. Her mother was 
in Philadelphia and it was not certain when she 
would return, and as the others were out, Juliet 
ate her luncheon alone, her father having already 
had his and gone back to his study. She had just 
finished when the telephone bell rang. To her 
surprise she recognized Miss Sedgwick’s voice. 
She asked Juliet to come to see her that after- 
noon at four o’clock. 

Greatly wondering, Juliet hung up the tele- 
phone. What could Miss Sedgwick want with 
her? It was most unusual to telephone to her 
to come back. Why had she not asked her at 
close of school, as she always did when she de- 
sired to speak with one of the girls? Could it 

43 


THE WARING GIRLS 


possibly have to do with the affair of the valen- 
tine? Juliet was more than ever glad that her 
conscience was clear, and that she was in no way 
responsible for the valentine that had been the 
cause of the trouble. 

Promptly at four o’clock she ran up the steps 
and rang Miss Sedgwick’s door bell. She was 
told to go to the study. This was a small room 
at the back, beyond the dining-room on the first 
floor. It was furnished with some severity of 
taste, for it was used only for business. There 
were but two or three chairs, some bookcases, 
and a large roll-top desk. In front of this desk, 
in a revolving chair. Miss Sedgwick was seated. 
She was occupied with accounts, and several large 
ledgers lay open before her. Bills and papers 
were strewn about, and there was the general 
litter which is usually to be found on the desk 
of a busy person. Off by itself, lying on top of 
the desk, was the valentine. Juliet could see its 
lace edge. 

Miss Sedgwick greeted her, asked her to sit 
down, and for a few minutes continued to write. 
She made some entries in a book, signed her name 
to a check, screwed up her fountain pen and laid 
it aside, and then whirling around in her chair, 
she faced her visitor. She was a small, rather 
slight woman, by no means old, and with an un- 

44 


WHO DID IT? 


derstandlng of girls which would keep her for- 
ever young. The pupils all admired and re- 
spected her, and most of them loved her. Juliet 
thought there was no one in the world quite like 
her. She was clever enough herself to appre- 
ciate Miss Sedgwick’s intellect, and she felt a 
deep regard and respect for her. She never 
wished to displease her if she could possibly avoid 
doing so, and she had always secretly wished that 
she were “that kind of a person,” and wondered 
if by constant effort she could become in the least 
like her. When, therefore. Miss Sedgwick turned 
and fixed her keen penetrating eyes — which were 
usually so kind, but which could be so disapprov- 
ing and stern — upon Juliet, and when she said 
coldly, “I waited the whole morning, Juliet, for 
you to come and tell me you wrote it. I am 
deeply grieved and disappointed that you went 
home without telling me” — when she said this, 
Juliet’s heart sank like lead. Her face became 
crimson. She could scarcely speak. 

“Wh — what is it. Miss Sedgwick?” she stam- 
mered. “I — I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I think you do. It is not worth while for you 
to attempt to deny it, Juliet. Please don’t add a 
he.” 

“I am not lying. Miss Sedgwick,” said Juliet 
indignantly. “At least I don’t mean to. I sup- 

45 


THE WARING GIRLS 


pose it is about the valentine, but I didn’t know it 
was that when you asked me to come.” 

“Yes, it is about the valentine.” Miss Sedg- 
wick picked it up and looked at it, and then gave 
it to Juliet. “Did you or did you not send that 
to Miss Snow?” 

Juliet stared at the paper. There were the 
well known lines, “Do you know old Miss 
Snow?” and all the rest of it. They were her 
verses. They had not been altered in any way. 
But the devices surrounding them were extraordi- 
nary, to say the least. Indeed they were quite 
outrageous. There was a drawing, cleverly done, 
of a woman in front of a looking-glass fitting 
upon her head a wig of flowing curls. The 
woman wore large spectacles and was not unlike 
Miss Snow. Miss Sedgwick watched Juliet. In 
a minute the girl looked up. 

“I did write these verses,” she said. “I wrote 
them but I didn’t send them. I never saw the 
pictures before.” 

“Then who did send it?” 

“I_I_don’t know.” 

“I think you must know, Juliet!” 

“No, Miss Sedgwick, I don’t.” 

“Did you give them to anyone else? Did any- 
one read them?” 

“Yes, someone read them.” 

46 


WHO DID IT? 


Miss Sedgwick was silent for a minute. The 
room was still. The clock ticked on the top of 
the bookcase, and outside the window some drops 
of melting snow fell with perfect regularity on 
the window sill, splashed, and dropped again. 

“When you wrote them,” said Miss Sedgwick 
at last, “I suppose you intended that they should 
be read by your friends, and perhaps go as a 
valentine, didn’t you?” 

“I wanted them to be read,” said Juliet hon- 
estly, “because I thought they were funny — I 
don’t know now why I thought so. They don’t 
seem a bit so now! But I said right away I 
wouldn’t send them for it seemed so awfully 
mean.” 

“Whom did you say this to?” 

“I would rather not tell you. Miss Sedg- 
wick. At least, I would like to tell you but I 
can’t.” 

“No,” said Miss Sedgwick thoughtfully, “I 
don’t think you can. I shall have to take some 
other means of getting at the bottom of the mat- 
ter. I would rather have had it happen to any- 
one but Miss Snow. I am very sorry for her. 
Perhaps you don’t know that the reason she 
walks in that peculiar way — ‘sure, slow,’ as you 
put it — is because she had a terrible illness not 
many years ago. She has never been the same 

47 


THE WARING GIRLS 


since. That is the reason why she wears a wig. 
It is not vanity, but because she can’t appear in 
public without one. I know it is unfortunate for 
a teacher, exposed to the merciless criticism of a 
lot of girls, to have the peculiarities of Miss Snow, 
but she has no other way of supporting herself, 
and she has such remarkable ability in mathe- 
matics that she is extremely valuable to a school. 
She offered to leave us when school closed last 
spring, for she felt her unpopularity with you 
all, but I persuaded her to stay.” 

By this time Juliet, usually so calm outwardly, 
so undemonstrative, was crying. Miss Sedgwick’s 
quiet way of speaking, the mere fact that she did 
not scold, that she only laid the case before her, 
made the girl far more remorseful than she would 
have been otherwise. 

“Of course,” continued Miss Sedgwick, “it is 
not as bad as if you had yourself sent the verses 
to her. I know what a temptation it is to write 
these things, Juliet, when you have the power in 
you to do it. It is so easy for you to dash off 
these lines, isn’t it? How long did it take you 
to write them?” 

“F — five m — minutes.” 

“Exactly I But it will take Miss Snow more 
than five days or even five weeks to get over 
them. I grant that she is over-sensitive. The 
48 


WHO DID IT? 


things that you say are not so very dreadful, and 
they are in a measure true. The pictures are 
the worst part of it. Some persons would not 
mind in the least and would only laugh. I should 
probably laugh, and think no more about it, but 
then I am a very different person from Miss 
Snow. I have not had the suffering or the trials 
that she has had, or I, too, might have been just 
as sensitive.” 

“What can I do. Miss Sedgwick? Does she 
think I wrote it?” 

“Yes, she does.” 

“And the pictures? Does she think I did the 
whole thing?” 

“Yes, I am afraid so.^’ 

“What can I do?” 

“I don’t know yet. I shall have to think it 
over, and I shall try to find out who did the rest 
of it. That is all now, Juliet. I should advise 
you to tell your mother all about it, and ask her 
advice.” 

But her mother was in Philadelphia and could 
not then be consulted. Juliet went home in a mis- 
erable state of mind. She was extremely con- 
scientious and she would have been glad to do 
something at once to make amends to Miss Snow, 
but what should it be? She did not even know 
where she lived, but believed it to be somewhere 

49 


THE WARING GIRLS 


out of town. Then, too, she could not explain to 
her about the verses without betraying Clara Clif- 
ford. That was the worst part of it to Juliet. 
She could not help suspecting Clara of having 
sent the valentine, for who else could have done 
it? It must have been Clara, and yet she had 
said nothing — had actually let it appear that she, 
too, was ignorant! No wonder that Juliet was 
miserable, for she cared for Clara. 

Mildred also went to the Sedgwick School, so 
of course she knew all about the valentine but 
not that Juliet had been sent for to return. She, 
like all of the younger girls, was full of the af- 
fair, and she was impatiently waiting for Juliet 
to come home that she might talk it over with her. 
Juliet, however, would say nothing. She could 
not shut herself into her room, for the room be- 
longed also to Mildred, but she said she had 
something to write, which was just as effective as 
though she had closed and locked the door. 
When Juliet seated herself at her desk, Mildred, 
according to the rule of the room, could not ad- 
dress her. 

“Oh, goodness!” sighed Mildred, and she went 
to look for Cyntra. “I’m so sorry Juliet is going 
to be an author,” she said to her elder sister. 
“It’s bad enough to have father not able to be 
interrupted. One author is enough for any fam- 

50 


WHO DID IT? 


ily, I think. I shall never, never write, shall you, 
Cyntra?” 

“No, I don’t believe I shall!” said Cyntra, 
laughing. “But I don’t think it is because we 
shouldn’t like to if we could. We just can’t.” 

“I wouldn’t if I could,” protested Mildred 
stoutly. “But there’s something else the matter 
with old Ju,” she added. “She’s all upset. I’m 
going back to peek in.” 

In spite of Cyntra’s remonstrance she tiptoed 
along the narrow passageway of the apartment 
and peered through the half-closed door. Juliet 
was not writing at all! She was sitting with her 
head bowed upon her arms, which were folded 
on the desk. Was she thinking? Juliet some- 
times wrote very exciting tales which she would 
read to the younger sister, and sometimes her 
characters would get into a tight place from which 
it was difficult to extricate them. This might be 
one of those occasions. Mildred longed to ask, 
but did not dare. She crept back to Cyntra, but 
not before she had seen Juliet’s shoulders heav- 
ing. She was either laughing or crying ! Cyntra 
had a little room to herself. When she arrived 
from England, now more than two years ago, she 
had been given the guest-room, the only one avail- 
able. It was a tiny place, but Cyntra loved it, and 
here she kept all her treasures — books, photo- 

51 


THE WARING GIRLS 


graphs of England and of the friends and cousins 
there, and all the pretty things that a girl loves 
to collect and have about her. Mildred enjoyed 
examining all these articles and asking questions 
about them. 

“I don’t think she’s writing at all,” she said, 
in a low, mysterious voice. “She’s only pretend- 
ing to write so’s I won’t talk. I call that mighty 
mean, don’t you, Cyntra ? I wish you and I could 
have a room together and let Ju have this one to 
herself. Would you mind changing?” 

“Oh, I like my little room!” exclaimed Cyntra, 
startled at the suggestion. 

“Well, you needn’t look so worried!” said Mil- 
dred. “I don’t know why nobody wants to room 
with me. I don’t bother people a bit except when 
they don’t tell me things. That’s an awfully good 
picture of Rosamond, isn’t it? Cyntra, do you 
suppose Eddie will go home soon and they’ll be 
married?” 

“I don’t know,” said Cyntra sadly. “He will 
if he can.” 

Cyntra had an English cousin named Eddie Es- 
cott, who had come to the United States not long 
after Cyntra herself had arrived, and had gone 
into business in New York. When the great war 
broke out, Eddie had immediately sailed for home 
and had gone into the army. He was now at the 

52 


WHO DID IT? 


front in France. He was engaged to Rosamond 
Rufford, a girl of Cyntra’s age, the niece of Mrs. 
Waring, and she was at present in England vis- 
iting Mrs. Escott, Eddie’s mother. 

‘‘I had a letter from Rosamond to-day,” con- 
tinued Cyntra. ‘‘Dear old RosI She doesn’t say 
90, but I shouldn’t wonder if she found things 
just as strange over there as I did here at first.” 

“We found you very strange,” said her sister. 
“You had the queerest way of talking, and you 
didn’t know — why, you just didn’t know beans.” 

“Beans? Why, of course I knew beans 1” 

“No, you didn’t. Of course I don’t mean real 
beans, Cyntra I That’s just an expression.” 

“You have so many expressions! I’ve been 
here nearly three years and I never heard that 
before.” 

“Oh, you’re too funny I But what do you sup- 
pose is the matter with Ju? It might be about 
the valentine.” 

“What valentine?” 

“Oh, one Miss Sedgwick was all fussed up 
about! I really shouldn’t wonder. I must just 
watch out.” 

But watching told her nothing. Juliet came to 
the dinner-table perfectly calm and composed, 
though perhaps a little paler than usual. Mil- 
dred’s sharp eyes discovered traces of tears — “so 

S3 


THE WARING GIRLS 


she was crying and not laughing,” she said to her- 
self — ^but there was no other sign of emotion, and 
Mildred went to bed knowing nothing more. Ju- 
liet herself went to their room at the usual time, 
but she could not sleep. An hour or so later 
she raised herself on her elbow and listened. 
Mildred, in the little bed across the room, was 
breathing with the perfect regularity of the sound 
sleeper. Juliet hesitated, then she got up and put 
on her kimono and slippers. “I can’t stand it an- 
other minute,” she thought. She moved noise- 
lessly from the room and went to Cyntra’s door. 
She pushed it open a little way. A bright light 
was burning. “Cyntra,” she said in a low voice, 
“are you awake?” 

“Yes, I haven’t gone to bed yet. Come in, Ju. 
Is anything the matter?” 

“Yes, something dreadful. There’s a fuss at 
school.” 

Juliet said this with a tragic face. Her face 
lent itself to tragedy. Her eyes were large and 
dark, her nose was slightly aquiline, her short 
upper lip gave the corners of her mouth a down- 
ward droop, and her eyebrows were definitely 
marked. Cyntra thought her very handsome, es- 
pecially in her red kimono. She admired Juliet 
in every way, and Juliet had a similar feeling for 
her. When Cyntra first came home to live the 

54 


WHO DID IT? 


younger girl had not felt very cordial, and it had 
taken a little while for the two to become ad- 
justed to each other, but now they had reached a 
more intimate mutual understanding, and their 
affection was deep and true, though undemon- 
strative. 

“You sit here and I’ll sit on the bed,” said 
Cyntra, hospitably waving her hand toward the 
only comfortable chair in the tiny room. “A 
fuss at school ? How exciting! You’re not mixed 
up in it, are you, Ju?” 

“Yes,” said Juliet gloomily. “I am. Awfully 
mixed up. I don’t know what to do about it.” 

“What’s happened? Tell me! I wish I were 
there, too! There wasn’t a bit of a fuss all the 
time I was there, and now I’ve only been out a 
year and you’re having one !” 

“Well, you needn’t wish you were in it. It’s 
about a valentine. I wrote some verses and I 
showed them to — to a friend of mine. She 
wanted me to send them to Miss Snow — they’re 
about Miss Snow. I said no, I wouldn’t, but I 
let her take them to show to — to another friend 
of mine. Then this morning there they were — 
the verses, I mean — all fixed up with lace and 
pictures — the most awful pictures, Cyntra — and 
had been sent to Miss Snow, and Miss Sedgwick 
had it and held it up and asked the whole school 

55 


THE WARING GIRLS 


if we knew anything about it. I didn’t know 
they were my verses, but after I got home this 
afternoon Miss Sedgwick telephoned for me to 
come back, and they are my verses and somebody 
sent them! And poor Miss Snow is awfully cut 
up about it and is ill at home, and it’s all my 
fault, and I don’t know what to do, for *1 can’t 
get out of it without telling that Cl — I mean, 
saying the name of the girl I lent them to.” 

“Which of course is Clara Clifford,” said 
Cyntra. “You needn’t tell me her name. I know 
it. It is just like her.” 

“Now, Cyntra, you needn’t blame Clara too 
much,” said Juliet. “I ought never to have writ- 
ten the verses in the first place.” 

“What were they? Can you say them?” 

Juliet remembered them only to well. She re- 
peated them to her sister. Try as she would to 
preserve a straight face, Cyntra could not help 
laughing. “That’s Miss Snow exactly,” she said, 
“especially ‘no hello, even at the telephone.’ 
How did you ever think of it, Ju?” 

“Oh, I wish I never had!” lamented Juliet. 
“Somehow I can’t help those things coming into 
my head and getting themselves written! Oh, 
Cyntra dear, please tell me what I had better 
do about it!” 

They talked for a long time, but it was not 


WHO DID IT? 


easy to find a way out of the difficulty. Juliet de- 
clared that she would not give Clara’s name, and 
Cyntra could see no other solution of the mat- 
ter. It seemed to her that she must take a hand 
in it herself if Juliet would do nothing, but she 
did not say so to her. When they finally sep- 
arated it was late but no decision had been 
reached. 


7 


CHAPTER ly 


MRS. waking’s news 

M rs. waring was to get home during 
the afternoon of Tuesday, which meant 
that Cyntra must pass the greater part 
of the day at the shop with Miss Macy, the as- 
sistant. She could therefore do nothing in re- 
gard to the valentine, but before she left the 
house she asked Juliet if she intended to speak 
to the friends who had the verses in their pos- 
session. Juliet, much depressed, replied that she 
thought she should, but she was not quite sure. 

“You had better,” urged Cyntra; “it’s the only 
thing to do. Cheer up, Ju I It will all come out 
right!” 

But Juliet felt no such confidence. 

That afternoon she went to see Clara Clifford 
in an unhappy frame of mind. It was not merely 
the fact of the valentine itself that worried her; 
it was also the fear of a definite break with 
Clara. She was angry with her for having done 
so underhand a thing, and yet, such was Clara’s 
peculiar influence over her, she could not bear the 

58 


MRS. WAKING’S NEWS 


thought of giving up her companionship. She 
found Isabel Nugent waiting on the steps for the 
door to be opened. 

‘‘Why, Jul” laughed Isabel; “you look as if 
you’d lost every friend in the world ! What’s the 
matter? I’m going to ask Clara to go with 
mother and me to a concert. I’m awfully sorry 
I’ve only got one ticket to give away. Can’t you 
scrape up enough to buy one for yourself and go 
with us? Mother would be willing to change our 
seats, I’m sure, and we’ll get three together, if 
you would like to go. Why don’t you?” 

But even this proposal did not lighten Juliet’s 
depression. On the contrary it added to it con- 
siderably, for it gave her a pang of jealousy. Isa- 
bel had deliberately chosen Clara instead of her- 
self to go to the concert! All of Juliet’s friends 
knew well enough that she never had money for 
concert or theater tickets, and could only go to 
such entertainments when she was invited by her 
friends. It simply meant that in this friendship 
of three, these two were now united against the 
one. Of course there was still Dolly Trench, 
but Dolly did not possess the fascination of Clara. 
Juliet sighed heavily and shook her head. Then 
the door was opened and she followed Isabel into 
the house. 

Clara sent for the girls to come up to her 

59 


THE WARING GIRLS 


room. As she was the only daughter of wealthy 
parents, she was given everything that a girl’s 
heart could desire, and the room was a large and 
luxurious apartment on the third floor, furnished 
as a sitting-room with her bedroom opening from 
it. One glance at Juliet’s face told her the 
reason for her call, and without delay she her- 
self opened the subject. 

“Don’t you think we managed that valentine 
business pretty well, Juliet?” she said with a 
laugh. “Isabel and I both thought your verses 
were entirely too good to be lost forever, didn’t 
we, Isabel? Of course neither of us drew the 
pictures, and neither of us posted the valentine. 
Have you seen the pictures? They’re awfully 
clever, done by someone who is quite an art- 
ist.” 

“Who did them?” asked Juliet. She was 
scarcely able to control her voice. 

“Oh, that’s telling! Never you mind who did 
them!” 

“But aren’t you going to tell Miss Sedgwick?” 

“Tell Miss Sedgwick!” Clara looked at Isa- 
bel and Isabel at Clara. “My dear child, you 
must be quite out of your mind. Of course we’re 
not going to tell! Why should we?” 

“Because she thinks — at least she thought — 
that I did the whole thing. She sent for me to 
6o 


MRS. WAKING’S NEWS 


go there yesterday afternoon. I told her I had 
written the verses but I had never meant to send 
them and — ” 

“You don’t mean to say you told her we had 
anything to do with it?” broke in Clara. “Well, 
Juliet Waring, if you did, I call you the meanest 
girl alive, don’t you, Isabel?” 

“I certainly do,” said Isabel, somewhat wor- 
ried at the course that affairs were taking but 
determined to stand by Clara at all costs. “Mean 
is no word for it.” 

“Well, I didn’t tell her!” said Juliet hotly. 
“Of course I knew it was you, for you were the 
only ones who had seen them, but I didn’t say 
so. I only said that I had written them and had 
never seen the valentine before.” 

“I call that pretty mean,” said Clara. “Of 
course that just puts Miss Sedgwick on our track. 
As long as you told her you had written it you 
might just as well have shouldered the whole 
thing, don’t you think so, Isabel?” 

“Y — ^yes,” said Isabel, somewhat undecidedly. 
“I — I — suppose so.” 

“I know so. Well, you’ve gotten us into a 
nice pickle now, and I hope you’re satisfied.” 

“Why, Clara I” exclaimed Juliet. “I don’t 
know what you mean I” 

“Yes, you do.” 

6i 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“No, I don’t. You sent the valentine. I 
didn’t.” 

“But you wrote it, and I think you were very 
mean to get us into the scrape. And besides, we 
didn’t send it, did we, Isabel?” 

“No, not exactly,” murmured Isabel. 

“Not exactly? What do you mean by that? 
We didn’t send it. We neither drew the pictures 
nor sent it. We didn’t post it. If Miss Sedg- 
wick asks me anything about it I shall simply 
say, “No, Miss Sedgwick, I didn’t send it.” And 
you had better be ready to say just the same thing, 
Isabel. And neither of us will ever tell who drew 
the pictures or who addressed it. It would not 
be at all honorable. I do detest people who be- 
tray their friends, don’t you, Isabel?” 

Juliet had not a word to say. She was be- 
wildered by Clara’s flow of words and by her at- 
titude of virtue. She began to think, in spite of 
her common sense, that perhaps Clara was right. 
That it had been dishonorable on her own part 
not to take all the blame. That it was quite hon- 
est on the part of Clara to makedt appear that 
she was in no way responsible for the valentine. 
Clara, quick to see her advantage, followed it up. 

“Dear old Ju,” she said, with the winning man- 
ner which Juliet always found so fascinating, 
“don’t you worry I Of course you didn’t mean to 
62 


MRS. WAKING’S NEWS 


go back on us. I suppose you were just taken by 
surprise. We’ll forgive her, won’t we, Isabel? 
Let’s have some fun this afternoon. What shall 
we do?” 

‘‘I came to ask you to go with Mamma and me 
to a concert,” said Isabel, “I asked Juliet to buy 
a ticket and go with us, but she won’t. I’m aw- 
fully sorry I can’t regularly invite her, but Mam- 
ma bought three tickets and told me to ask you, 
Clara.” 

“How sweet of her!” exclaimed Clara rap- 
turously. “That’s too bad, Juliet. But we might 
all do something nice together before we go.” 

“Thank you,” said Juliet, “but I must go home. 
Then you are not going to tell Miss Sedgwick, 
Clara?” 

“Not unless I catch the grip and have a raging 
fever and don’t in the least know what I’m do- 
ing,” replied Clara emphatically. “And I’ll thank 
you, Juliet Waring, not to give us away. I’ll 
never, never forgive you if you do. You can 
just be sure of that.” 

Even as she spoke Clara was summoned to the 
telephone. There was one in the hall, just out- 
side of her room. The girls could hear distinctly 
what she said. 

“Yes, Miss Sedgwick, this is Clara Clifford — 
Certainly, Miss Sedgwick! Yes! Goodbye!” 

63 


THE WARING GIRLS 


She returned to the room. “So you did tell 
her after all!” she said to Juliet. 

“No, I didn’t! She asked me if anyone else 
had seen them, and I said some friends had. I 
didn’t mention either of your names.” 

“As if Miss Sedgwick didn’t know perfectly 
well the names of your friends! Well all I can. 
say is, we are not your friends another minute! 
Isabel, dearest, will you wait here for me, or 
shall I come to your house? And don’t you 
think we had better do that — ^you know what 
we were discussing — hadn’t we better do it to- 
morrow? Just as soon as we can, I think, as 
now I have to go to Miss Sedgwick’s at three. 
Such a bother!” She did not even glance at 
Juliet, nor did Isabel. 

Juliet rose and buttoned her jacket. “Good- 
bye, girls!” she said sadly. Neither one of them 
looked at her, nor spoke. She left the room and 
ran down the long softly-carpeted stairs. She 
met no one, and let herself out at the front door. 
The fresh wind felt refreshing upon her hot face. 
She only hoped she should not begin to cry until 
she got home. She hoped too that Mildred 
would be out. 

Mrs. Waring reached home shortly after four 
o’clock. When she came in it was plainly to be 

64 


MRS. WAKING’S NEWS 


seen that she had something of great interest to 
tell, for Mrs. Waring had an expressive face. 
Juliet and Mildred were the only members of the 
family who were there, for Cyntra was at the 
shop, and Georgie was playing somewhere with 
his friends. 

“Where is your father?” asked Mrs. Waring, 
as soon as she had greeted them. 

“He’s in the study,” said Juliet. “He left 
word that he wanted to be told as soon as you 
got home. Shall I go up and get him? He said 
he wasn’t doing anything special today. Only 
correcting proof, and he didn’t mind being inter- 
rupted.” 

“I’ll go right up myself,” said Mrs. Waring. 
The study was in another part of the large apart- 
ment house in which they lived. 

“Mother, aren’t you going to tell us?” ex- 
claimed Mildred. 

“Tell you what?” 

“The surprise.” 

“What do you mean, Mildred? What sur- 
prise?” 

“Oh, you’ve got one! Your face looks — how 
does her face look, Ju?” 

“Glowing,” said Juliet, who could always sup- 
ply the right word. 

“I’m glad to get home,” laughed their mother, 

65 


THE WARING GIRLS 


as she opened the door into the outer hall and 
disappeared. 

“There’s something up,” said Mildred, wisely. 
“You know when there’s something very special 
she always has to rush and tell father first, and 
he always tells everything to her first. I don’t 
see where we come in at all.” 

“Oh, we come next,” said Juliet. “I shouldn’t 
be surprised though — ” 

Then she stopped rather mysteriously. 

“Surprised at what?” 

“Oh, nothing!” 

“There is something! What’s the surprise?” 

“I didn’t say there was one.” 

“Yes, you did.” 

“No, I didn’t. I said I shouldn*t be sur- 
prised!” 

“That’s the same thing. When people say they 
wouldn’t be surprised it always means there is 
something very surprising. You’ve been awfully 
queer all day, Juliet. I knew there was some- 
thing up. How did you know it? Did mother 
tell you?” 

“Why, how could she tell me? She has just 
gotten home. How could she?” 

“She might have written. Very likely you got 
a letter this morning, or Cyntra did. I saw you 
whispering together, and you’ve looked like cry- 
66 


MRS. WAKING’S NEWS 


ing all day. I shouldn’t wonder if mother had 
written it to Cyntra and not to you, and so you’re 
mad.” 

“What perfect nonsense, Mildred I We were 
talking about something quite different. Neither 
of us had heard from mother, and I haven’t the 
least idea what’s up. Something she heard in 
Philadelphia, I suppose.” 

“Well, something is up with you too,” said 
Mildred, tossing her golden curls and putting on 
her wisest manner. “I’ve seen that all day I I’m 
sure it has something to do with that valentine 
business. Now there are two mysteries to be 
found out. I only hope mother will soon tell us 
hers.” 

Cyntra had come home from the shop and 
Georgie had also returned before Mr. and Mrs. 
Waring appeared. They went into the living- 
room and summoned the children. Juliet was the 
last to join the family group, entering the room 
with a preoccupied expression on her face which 
her mother was quick to notice, although she said 
nothing about it. She knew at once that some- 
thing had gone wrong with Juliet during her ab- 
sence. But her own news was so important that 
she opened the subject at once. 

“I know I’m a perfect goose,” she said, laugh- 
ing; “your father thinks so, and I suppose h^ 
67 


THE WARING GIRLS 


knows. The most wonderful thing has happened ! 
I didn’t intend to tell you until after dinner, but I 
can’t keep it in another minute, and it will be such 
fun to talk it over at dinner. I never was so sur- 
prised in my life. I can truthfully say I expected 
nothing of the sort, for there were other rela- 
tives whom she saw a great deal of and who were 
always perfectly devoted to her.” 

“Mother dear, what do you mean?” asked 
Juliet, who, in spite of her writing propensity, 
was very practical. “What has happened?” 

“Only this: My great aunt Jane, your great — 
great — aunt — think how far away! — has left me 
a house in the country with everything that is in 
it, and three thousand dollars. Enough to put 
it into complete repair! And your father says 
he will be willing to move out there if we all 
want to do it.” 

There was an audible gasp of amazement. 
For a moment no one spoke. Mildred was the 
first to regain the use of her tongue. 

“I knew there was something up,” said she. 
“Perhaps it will be big enough for us each to have 
our own room.” This with a glance at Juliet. 
“Only I should want to go in to Ju’s room when- 
ever I liked, just to see what she was doing.” 

“The country would be a fine place to write, 
said Juliet. “Don’t you think so, father?” 

68 


MRS. WAKING’S NEWS 


Mr. Waring did not reply. He was looking 
at Cyntra. Her face was lovely in its happiness. 

“We could have a garden 1” she exclaimed. 
“But, mother, what about the shop?” 

“I have thought it all out,” said Mrs. Waring. 
“You see I have known about it since yesterday, 
so I have had time to get accustomed to the idea 
and to make plans. When the will was read after 
the funeral I was so astonished I could scarcely 
behave properly! I never for an instant supposed 
that Aunt Jane would leave me anything. When 
I was asked to stay for the reading of the will 
I thought it was only out of courtesy, because 
I was a relative. Great-aunt Jane was not very 
rich. She was comfortably off, but with ever so 
many nieces and nephews. This house is in Clyde 
Corners, not very far from New York. It is on 
the outskirts of the town, which is very small, and 
it has been empty for more than a year, for it is 
in such need of doing up that no one would take 
it. There was no one to attend to it properly, so 
nothing was done. Your father and I are going 
out to look at it tomorrow or next day, and see 
just what its possibilities are. Of course there is 
a good deal to be said, both for and against such 
a radical change. There are the schools, and 
the shop, and the difficulty of getting to both 
from there. On the other hand, there is our own 

69 


THE WARING GIRLS 


house instead of an apartment, and country air, 
which will be good for all of us, and more room 
to grow in, and no rent to pay.” 

“Taxes, though,” said Mr. Waring, “and the 
house to keep up after we have put it in order.” 

“Oh, I know! Of course we never should 
dream of buying a house and thus bringing upon 
ourselves such expenses and responsibilities, but 
with one left to us, and with the money to put 
it in order, I believe it would be more economical 
for us to live in it than to keep on here, for this 
rent is so high now.” 

So they talked all through dinner and most of 
the evening, and by the time they said goodnight 
the matter was almost settled, the only “if” being 
the large one of the condition of the house. It 
might require too much expenditure for repairs 
to make it worth while. 

They went out to see it Thursday afternoon. 
Mr. and Mrs. Waring, Juliet and Mildred. The 
wind was blowing a gale and it was a cold wind. 
There was snow on the ground, but the sun shone 
brightly save when an occasional mass of cloud 
scudded across its face. In the little town of 
Clyde Corners scarcely a creature was to be seen 
after they left the vicinity of the station and the 
post-office. Most of the men were in New 
York at their business offices, and some of the 
70 


MRS. WAKING’S NEWS 


women had also gone to the city to shop. Those 
who were at home evidently preferred to remain 
within doors this blustering afternoon. It was 
not quite three o’clock when the Warings alighted 
from the train on the station platform and in- 
quired the way to a certain house on Lyman 
Street. According to directions received from 
the station master, they walked up the street 
from the station and turned sharply to the right 
when they reached the corner of Lyman Street. 
Soon the business part of the town was left be- 
hind and the shops gave place to dwelling-houses, 
at first quite close together and then farther apart, 
but apparently each with its garden, large or 
small. 

As the Warings walked out this street they 
could catch glimpses of the Clyde River, now with 
snow upon its frozen surface but none the less 
beautiful. The frosty air sweeping over it from 
the west cut their faces, and Mrs. Waring held 
up her muff to protect herself from the keen wind. 
They walked fast, and it was not long before a 
medium-sized, shabby house, evidently unoccu- 
pied, came into sight. It was on their right as 
they walked and the river lay just behind it. 

“George, I believe that is it!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Waring. 

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said her husband. “It 

71 


THE WARING GIRLS 


has a number. Yes. No. 79. That’s it.” He 
drew from his pocket a bunch of keys. “Here we 
are !” 

He led the way up the short, straight path from 
the gate to the steps of the piazza, and fitted one 
of the keys into the lock of the front door. It 
opened readily enough and they all went in. 

They found an old-fashioned interior which, 
though now sadly in need of fresh paper and 
paint, had a charm and individuality which ap- 
pealed at once to both Mr. and Mrs. Waring. 
There were rooms on either side of the front 
door with open fire-places and fine old mantel- 
shelves of carved wood. Although the house was 
not large it was well planned, and there were 
bedrooms enough for each girl to have her own, 
as Mildred promptly discovered. The carpets 
and rugs were shabby but they were good, and 
the furniture, with their own added to it, and 
some new coverings, would do very well. It was 
so cold in the house that they dared not stay there 
long, but when they came out and locked the front 
door it was with their minds fully made up to 
move out there to live just as soon as the new 
plumbing should be in place and the other repairs 
attended to. 

“It is like a fairy tale,” said Mrs. Waring hap- 
pily, pausing a moment at the gate to look back. 
72 


MRS. WAKING’S NEWS 


“I have never told you, George, how I dislike 
living in an apartment. It will be perfectly de- 
lightful to have a whole house to ourselves. I 
can scarcely believe that this really is ours.” 

“Yours,” corrected her husband, smiling at her. 

“No, ours! It belongs to all of us.” 

She tucked her hand through his arm and they 
walked off, talking busily. Juliet and Mildred 
lingered for a last look. Mildred’s eyes turned 
toward the house next door. It was quite near, 
the two places being separated by a hedge. There 
was no fence between. The house was somewhat 
larger than their own, and different in appear- 
ance. It was square, with a French roof and a 
cupola. Theirs was more old-fashioned, with a 
sloping roof, and was white with green blinds, 
while that of the neighbors was of a pale brown. 
In one of the second-story windows a girl stood 
looking down at them. Of course Mildred dis- 
covered her at once and mentioned it to Juliet, 
and they both looked up. In fact the two stared 
up at the window for at least a minute. They 
could see that the girl was speaking to someone 
in the room. Then as the Warings turned away, 
Mildred made a funny little face and blew the 
stranger a kiss. The girl in the window made no 
response. Mildred then waved her hand, but 
that too passed unnoticed. 

73 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“What are you doing, Mildred?” asked Juliet. 
“Just being neighborly,” replied her sister. 
“Well, you’d better not be quite so fresh! 
They’ll think we’re very queer people and don’t 
know how to behave.” 

“Some of us are a little queer,” said Mildred. 
“But it isn’t me.” 

“You ought to say ‘I.’ ” 

“It doesn’t sound as well. I like ‘me’ better. 
But I don’t like that girl. She might at least have 
smiled. She’s going to be an awful neighbor.” 

“Come, we must hurry! Father and mother 
are ever so far ahead.” 

So they ran away, and the girl in the window 
was soon left far behind them. 


CHAPTER V 


THE UNSOCIABLE GIRL 
HE first week in May the Warings moved 



to the country. To people whose home 


had always been in a large city it meant 


a great change. The mere fact of living in a 
house instead of an apartment required such a 
readjustment of domestic arrangements that Mrs. 
Waring was at times almost tempted to wish that 
Great-Aunt Jane had left the property to one of 
her other nieces or nephews. That feeling came, 
however, only when Mrs. Waring was tired after 
a day spent partly in town at the wool shop, and 
partly in trying to get settled in the new home. 
To the younger members of the family the change 
was one of unmixed pleasure. The girls all loved 
it at once, and they lost no time in arranging their 
rooms, each one to suit herself. 

As one entered the front door there was a wide 
hall, on the left of which, with windows facing 
the south and the east, was the living-room. On 
the right was another good room which was to 
be used by Mr. Waring as a work-room and was 


75 


THE WARING GIRLS 


at once named “Father’s study.” The stairs were 
at the back, around the corner of the hall, facing 
another door at the side of the house which had 
evidently once been the front door. The dining- 
room was also there, with the kitchen beyond. 
Upstairs, Cyntra had one of the large front 
rooms and Mildred the small one between it and 
their mother’s, while Juliet and George were at 
the back of the house. 

It was a pleasant old house, and one that could 
be made homelike, and this it soon became. At 
first, with the exception of Mildred, they were 
all too busy to feel lonely or to think about their 
neighbors. It rained for several days just after 
they moved in and scarcely anything could be seen 
thTough the foggy atmosphere. There was a 
small house directly opposite which was unoccu- 
pied and which had on it a sign “To Let,” and 
in the house next door they were as yet acquainted 
with no one. Mildred watched it eagerly when- 
ever she had the opportunity, for it was in the 
window of this house that she had seen the unso- 
ciable girl the day in February when they came 
out to look at their new property. Mildred’s one 
window gave a view only of the road upon which 
they lived. It was necessary to go into Cyntra’s 
room to her side window to see the house next 
door, or to Juliet’s room, from which the back 


THE UNSOCIABLE GIRL 


of their neighbors’ house and the garden were 
visible, but even from there nothing could be dis-^ 
covered during the first few days, and Mildred 
was distinctly disappointed. She was a friendly 
person, and knowing that a girl of about her own 
age lived there, she longed to make her acquain- 
tance, even though her first advances had not been 
met in a cordial spirit. 

At last one day the wind, which had been blow- 
ing drearily from the east for a week, suddenly 
shifted to the south, and at sunset there was a 
streak of yellow along the horizon. The next 
morning the wind was from the west, the clouds 
were gone, the sky was blue, and all the land 
was smiling again. The weather became mild and 
springlike now, and it was time for gardeners 
to get to work. Trees were in bud, bushes were 
in flower, fruit trees were covered with blossoms, 
birds were singing — spring had come with a rush. 
The old garden belonging to the Warings had 
long been neglected, but there were evidently some 
good plants in it which Cyntra determined to im- 
prove. She knew a little about gardening, for 
her English grandmother had taught her to love 
the work, and every day as she spaded an,d dug 
she thought of the old home in Surrey. She sup- 
posed that the same old man was taking care of 
the gardens there whg had done so for forty years, 

77 


THE WARING GIRLS 


but all the others whom she remembered would 
have gone to the war — the terrible war, which was 
ever in the background of her mind! While she 
was working and thinking one Saturday morning 
she became conscious of sounds from the next 
place. Evidenly someone was in the garden there, 
but as there was a tall hedge between she could 
see no one. Just then Mildred came running out of 
the house. Mildred was growing fast, and her 
skirts had become too short. Her long, black- 
stockinged legs moved with amazing rapidity, her 
light curly hair blew out behind her, her arms 
waved wildly as she ran down the steps, the screen 
door banging after her as she dashed through it. 

“Cyntra! Cyntra!” she called out. “IVe got 
something perfectly wonderful to tell you 1 The 
letters have come, and mother has had one from 
Aunt Mildred, and Aunt Mildred has had one 
from Rosamond, and Rosamond and Eddie are 
going to be married very soon I And then he is 
to go right back to the front I Oh, are you going 
in? Why, that’s all there is to hear, Cyntra! 
IVe told you everything Aunt Mildred said. 
There’s no use in going in. Why, I’ve just come 
out to help you 1” 

“Ot course I’m going in I I want to speak to 
mother before she goes to town, and of course I 
want to see Aunt Mildred’s letter myself. You 

78 


THE UNSOCIABLE GIRL 


scratch up the ground very carefully, Mildred, 
just around here, while I am gone. Do you see? 
Don’t disturb the roots in any way, will you? 
Now you will be careful, won’t you?” 

Mildred looked after her. “I don’t know 
whether I will or not!” she thought. “It’s aw- 
fully mean of her to go in just as I came. I’m not 
going to bother with those old plants. I’d make 
a mistake, and then Cyntra would never get over 
it. I think I’ll climb that apple tree instead. 
I’d rather like to take a peek next door. It looks 
like a nice one for climbing, and it is so near the 
hedge that I could look right down and see what 
they are doing in there. The blossoms would 
hide me. It’s provoking not to be able to see 
through the hedge. I hear somebody in there all 
the time.” 

She at once proceeded to carry out this deci- 
sion. It was easy enough to get into the tree, and 
a long, almost horizontal branch, which reached 
out in the direction of the adjoining place, proved 
too tempting to be resisted. Mildred crept care- 
fully along, and soon the object of her interest 
could be seen. Down on her knees, close to the 
dividing hedge, was the girl who had been at the 
window the day the Warings came out to look 
at their property for the first time, and who had 
not been seen by Mildred since. She was busy 

79 


THE WARING GIRLS 


with a trowel, her fingers moving rapidly, and as 
though they were feeling in the earth. She 
paused a moment as if to listen, but she did not 
look up. 

“Just as unsociable as ever!” thought Mildred, 
now almost directly over her. “Isn’t she queer 1” 
She cleared her throat with a loud “Ahem I” 
The girl started slightly, half raised her head, and 
then continued to pat and feel the ground. 

“Oh, goodness!” exclaimed Mildred aloud, 
and tugging at her dress. “I’m caught!” 

Then the girl turned her face upward. She 
rose slowly to her feet, having first raised her 
arm as if to feel for the branch. Then she 
stepped carefully to one side. She stood for an 
instant in silence. Mildred thought it extraor- 
dinary that she made no effort to help her. By 
reaching up after stepping a little toward the 
hedge, the girl could easily have loosened Mil- 
dred’s frock from the branch on which it was 
caught, but she made not the slightest sign of 
any intention of doing this. She merely stood 
there with a blank and puzzled look upon her 
face, her eyes not seeming to see Mildred at all. 

“Can’t you help me?” demanded Mildred with 
some impatience. “Don’t you see that I’m all 
tangled up and I can’t reach back? If I do. I’m 
afraid I’ll fall off.” 


8o 


THE UNSOCIABLE GIRL 


“No,” said the girl quietly, “I don’t see.” 

“Well, you must be blind if you don’t!” ex- 
claimed Mildred. “It’s as plain as daylight.” 

“I am blind.” 

“Oh, excuse me 1” Mildred’s tone was shocked. 
“Oh, I beg your pardon! I never supposed you 
were really blind, or I wouldn’t have said that! 
Do please excuse me. How perfectly awful of 
me!” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Alice Cornish. “Of 
course if you didn’t know it you wouldn’t guess 
it. I’m sorry I can’t help you. Perhaps, if you 
will explain to me what it is, I can do it. I can 
do a good many things. You tell me where to 
move to, and then perhaps I can reach up and 
undo your dress.” 

“I’m sure you can. Just come this way a little 
and give me your hand. Now just a little more 
to the right — there it is! Oh, thank you! Now, 
if you’ll just stand a little out of the way. I’ll 
jump down on your side of the hedge and go 
back by the front gate. It isn’t as much fun 
climbing trees as I thought it was, for it’s so 
hard to go back again when you’ve been far 
enough. There!” She alighted on her feet in 
her neighbor’s garden. “My name is Mildred 
Waring. I suppose yours is Kent, but what is 
your first name?” 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Alice, and my last name isn’t Kent. It is 
Cornish. I’m Alice Cornish.” 

“What a perfectly lovely name!” exclaimed 
Mildred. “I’ve been perfectly crazy to meet you 
ever since we came out here.” 

To this the girl made no reply. She did not 
even smile, and to the enthusiastic and cordial 
Mildred this seemed strange. 

“And what relation are you to Admiral Kent?” 
she asked. “Are you related to him? Perhaps 
he is your grandfather.” 

“Oh, no, he isn’t. He is my uncle.” 

“Oh!” Mildred did not know what else to 
say, and Alice Cornish made no effort to continue 
the conversation. “Well, I must be going, I sup- 
pose,” she said, but still standing perfectly still. 
After a moment of silence she began to move to- 
ward the front gate. Then she turned back. 
Mildred was an impulsive person. She seldom 
stopped to think twice before speaking. “What’s 
the matter, anyway?” she asked. “Are you mad 
because I didn’t know you were blind? How 
could I? I’ve never known a blind person in my 
whole life except the kind who sell pencils and 
shoe-strings in the street, and once one of our 
maids had a niece who was blind, and she told 
me about her, but I never saw her. I’m awfully 
sorry if I hurt your feelings, but I really didn’t 
82 


THE UNSOCIABLE GIRL 


mean to. I think it’s awfully interesting to know 
somebody who is blind, and I’d like to be friends. 
You’re older than I am, I suppose. Perhaps 
that’s the reason you’re so cool.” 

“No, it isn’t. Neither of those is the reason,” 
said Alice, her face turning pink and her expres- 
sion troubled. “I’m not a bit offended because 
you didn’t know I was blind. That would be 
too silly I And it isn’t because I am older. I 
didn’t know I was. I can’t see you, you know, so 
how should I know how old you are? How old 
are you?” 

“Eleven, but I’ll be twelve in August. How 
old are you?” 

“I’ll be twelve in August, too. My birthday is 
the fifth.” 

“So is mine I” cried Mildred. “Isn’t that won- 
derful? Why, we’re twins!” 

“It is strange.” 

“But you haven’t told me why you are so cool. 
Don’t you like having us for neighbors? Aren’t 
you going to be friendly? What have we ever 
done that makes you act so queerly?” 

Alice appeared to be much embarrassed. She 
hesitated, began to speak, then was silent. She 
behaved in a way that to Mildred seemed to be 
very peculiar. “I shouldn’t wonder if blind peo- 
ple were rather queer,” she said to herself. “I 

83 


THE WARING GIRLS 


shouldn’t wonder if they were all a little bit 
crazy I” 

At last Alice Cornish spoke. The words seemed 
to burst from her lips although she tried to keep 
them back. “Isn’t — isn’t Juliet Waring y-your 
sister?” 

“Yes,” said Mildred, “she is. I’ve got two 
sisters and one brother. What have you got?” 

“If Juliet Waring is your sister,” said Alice, 
now speaking slowly and distinctly, “I’m afraid 
we can’t be friends.” Then she turned away and 
moved swiftly toward the house. 

Mildred stood looking after her, for once 
struck dumb with amazement. If her neighbor 
had slapped her she would scarcely have been 
more astonished. Then, as the girl disappeared 
within the house, she remembered to go home 
herself. The unwelcome visitor ran as fast as 
she could through the Kent place, out of the 
front gate, and along the sidewalk to her own 
front gate. “Weill” she exclaimed aloud; 
“Well, I never I” And she rushed into the house. 

Mrs. Waring had already gone to New York, 
and Mr. Waring was at work in his study. In 
the living-room, Cyntra was still reading her let- 
ters and Juliet was busy with her books. George 
had walked with his mother to the train, and was 
no doubt now loitering at the shop windows on 

84 


THE UNSOCIABLE GIRL 


his way back. George had made no friends as 
yet and was slightly bored with life at Clyde 
Corners. The three sisters were alone. 

“Girls! Girls!” exclaimed Mildred, as she 
blew into the room like a gust of wind on a day 
that has hitherto been calm. “Just listen to this ! 
The girl next door won’t have anything to do with 
me just because I’m your sister, Juliet! And 
she’s blind! Can’t see a thing! And she’s very 
queer! Said right out, ‘Are you Juliet Waring’s 
sister?’ And when I said I was, she said she 
couldn’t have anything to do with us ! What do 
you think of that? And what can be the reason? 
Have you offended her, Ju? Have you had a fuss 
and never told me? Very likely you have, and I 
think it was awfully mean of you never to have 
told me !” 

The words poured from her in a torrent. She 
stood in the middle of the room, her thin delicate 
face flushed and angry, her blue eyes seeming to 
blaze and sparkle. 

“I’ve never seen the girl next door except that 
day we came out when she was in the window,” 
said Juliet, looking up from her books. “I can’t 
imagine what you are talking about. Do quiet 
down and tell us just what you mean. There’s 
no use in getting into such a rage.” 

“I guess you’d be in a rage if she’d said it to 

85 


THE WARING GIRLS 


you about one of us I Just think how you’d feel 
if she said to you, ‘Are you Cyntra or Mildred 
Waring’s sister? Then I can’t have anything to 
do with you I’ How would '^ou like it, I should 
just like to know?” 

“It would be queer,” said Juliet, thoughtfully. 
“But why is it? If we were in town, I should 
think it had something to do with that dreadful 
valentine, but it can’t be that out here.” 

“Whatever it is, it is very peculiar,” said 
Cyntra, “and if I were you, Mildred, I wouldn’t 
have a thing to do with that girl. Don’t make 
the slightest advance to her. How did you hap- 
pen to speak to her, anyway? Was she in her 
garden? I heard someone there, but I couldn’t 
see anyone.” 

“I suppose Mildred went poking around until 
she found her!” exclaimed Juliet, irritably. “She’s 
been doing all she could, short of going in there, 
to get to know them. She can’t possibly have 
gone in there this morning, can she?” 

“Tell us just what you did,” commanded Cyn- 
tra, with great severity. “I left you in our garden, 
and I asked you to scratch up the ground.” 

“Well, I got tired of scratching. I was mak- 
ing lots of mistakes, anyhow. I guess I pulled 
up lots of things that weren’t weeds. And I 
wanted to climb that apple tree. What’s the use 
86 


THE UNSOCIABLE GIRL 


of living in the country unless you climb a tree 
occasionally? We might just as well be living in 
town. Well, I did, and I went along that branch, 
and just then my dress got caught and when I 
looked down, right underneath me I saw that girl. 
Of course I asked her to undo my dress from the 
branch. I never supposed she was blind and 
couldn’t see me. How was I ever to know that? 
Well, she told me she was, and then she undid 
me. She’s perfectly wonderful. Why, her hands 
move around so quick I Her fingers go like light- 
ning! And then I had to jump down, for I 
couldn’t get back on the branch, and so of course 
I landed on her side of the hedge. I couldn’t 
do anything else. And then of course we got talk- 
ing, and she asked me if Juliet was my sister. 
Why, I can’t get over it I It gave me the queerest 
feeling — as if Juliet were a sort of a thief, or 
something!” 

“I should think you would feel as if I were one, 
the way I’m treated at school,” said Juliet. “It 
will be too dreadful if the same thing is going to 
happen out here.” To the surprise of the other 
girls she put her head down on her arms on the 
table. “I can’t bear it any longer!” she sobbed. 

In an instant her sisters were beside her. 
Cyntra sat on the arm of the chair and put her 
arms around Juliet’s neck, and Mildred knelt on 

87 


THE WARING GIRLS 


the floor at her other side. Juliet was by nature 
so undemonstrative, she so seldom gave way to 
tears unless she were quite alone, that they were 
deeply moved and shocked. 

“Darling, don’t worry!” said Cyntra, in her 
low sweet voice. It trembled slightly, for she 
was almost crying herself. “It will all come right 
some day, I am sure. The real truth always 
comes out sooner or later.” 

“Dear old Ju!” whispered Mildred, kissing 
her on the ear, which was the only part of her 
face she could get at, so closely had Juliet cov- 
ered it. “Nobody really believes you had any- 
thing to do with sending that nasty old valen- 
tine.” 

“Yes, they do! They all do, or else they 
wouldn’t act so. It’s plain enough how they 
feel!” 

“No, Dolly Trench told Mabel, and Mabel 
told me, that several of the girls were coming 
around and were sorry they’d been so mean. 
Mabel told me that only yesterday and I was 
going to tell you, but we were all so busy last 
night I forgot it. They’re beginning to think 
Clara may have done it, after all. And anyhow, 
Ju, we don’t think you sent it, do we, Cyntra?” 

The little sister’s anger had vanished, and only 
the sweetest, purest affection shone now in her 


THE UNSOCIABLE GIRL 


blue eyes, which were full of tears as she knelt 
beside Juliet and looked up at Cyntra. 

“We never thought so for an Instant,” said 
Cyntra. “Juliet, dearest, don’t cry sol” 

“I’m only crying because you are both so 
dear!” said Juliet, raising her head and smiling at 
them. “After all, even If I haven’t a friend 
In the world but Dolly Trench and Emily 
Brewster, I’ve got you two sisters, and that’s a 
good deal! Of course It’s silly to mind about 
that girl next door, but It did seem more than I 
could bear. I’ve never spoken to her, and yet 
It made me feel as badly as If she were my dearest 
friend.” 

“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed Mildred sud- 
denly. She had risen to her feet and could see 
the front gate from where she stood. “Here 
comes the girl now, and the elderly gentleman Is 
with her!” 

“You don’t mean they are coming In here?” 
cried Cyntra, moving quickly toward the window. 

“Yes, they are! Oh, goody two shoes! 
Juliet!” 

But Juliet had fled from the room. 

The doorbell rang. Cyntra and Mildred 
waited In silence while the maid came from the 
back of the house and opened the front door. 
In another minute the visitors entered the room. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE ADMIRAL INTERVENES 

A dmiral KENT had been sitting by the 
open window in his library, reading his 
letters and the morning paper. His big 
gray and white cat, Taffy, sat on the sill beside 
him looking out. He had heard the bang of the 
screen door of the next house when Mildred ran 
out, and so still was the mild May morning that 
he had also distinctly heard what she had said 
to her sister in the garden. He was fond of 
young people, and particularly of girls, and he 
had smiled as he listened. He sat looking out of 
his window, watching his beloved Alice at her 
work in the flower beds, and he had therefore seen 
Mildred when she crawled along the branch and 
made her unceremonious entrance into the place, 
and he had heard most of the conversation be- 
tween the two girls. 

When Alice came in, he went to meet her. 
“What’s the trouble, my dear?” he asked. “I 
saw that you had a visitor, but you have left her 
90 


THE ADMIRAL INTERVENES 


out there! Did you ask her to come into the 
house?’’ 

“No, of course I didn’t, Uncle Frank! Why, 
do you know who she is? She is a sister of that 
perfectly hateful Juliet Waring, the one who 
wrote that dreadful valentine that made Cousin 
Evie so ill! You wouldn’t have me have any- 
thing to do with any of them, would you?” 
Alice spoke rapidly and her face was flushed. 

“I would certainly have you behave like a lady, 
and I can’t say, my dear, that I think you did! 
The Warings have come to live next door to us, 
and I should be sorry not to be kind and neigh- 
borly to them. Your mother and I were speak- 
ing about it last night. She has only been waiting 
until they were settled to call upon Mrs. Waring, 
and we decided that we would go in there this 
evening.” 

“But the valentine!” exclaimed Alice. “It 
made Cousin Evie ill, and that hateful Juliet 
Waring acknowledged that she wrote it, though 
she says she didn’t send it! I don’t see the dif- 
ference, myself!” 

“I do, and when you are as old as I am, my 
dear, you will have learned not to be too severe a 
judge. It seems the girl is very much troubled 
herself about it. Miss Sedgwick told your 
mother how badly she feels. She didn’t make the 

91 


THE WARING GIRLS 


pictures, which were the worst part of it. Not 
only that, but your cousin is peculiarly delicate, my 
dear, very peculiarly delicate as we all know. 
She was half ill already, and anything at all un- 
pleasant would have upset her. It won’t do for 
us to be rude to our neighbors because your cousin 
was upset by the prank of a schoolgirl. I think 
we had better go right in there, Alice. Take 
my arm, and we will go at once.” 

“Oh, Uncle Frank! What shall we say when 
we get there?” 

“We’ll first speak kindly, and then perhaps 
we’ll explain. There’s nothing like a little kindly 
speaking, my dear. It smooths things amaz- 
ingly.” 

He took his hat and his stick from the rack, 
and when they had passed through the front door 
he gave his arm to his niece. In this way they 
walked down their own front path, then the short 
distance along the sidewalk, and then up the 
straight path which led to their neighbor’s front 
door. 

Cyntra, watching them as they entered the 
room, never forgot the two as they looked then. 
The Admiral was not a tall man, but he held 
himself well, and his erect bearing was full of 
strength and dignity. His hair was white and 
very thick, and suited well his clear ruddy skin 
92 


THE ADMIRAL INTERVENES 


and the blue eyes that had the frank, open expres- 
sion the eyes of sailors so often have. He wore 
neither beard nor mustache, and his face was one 
that would be forever young because of his na- 
ture. Lines and wrinkles were there, to be sure, 
and white hair above, but his eyes and his smile 
were of that youth which never fades. 

Clinging to his arm was Alice Cornish. Look- 
ing directly at her, it was easy to see that she was 
blind, and Cyntra felt at once a great wave of 
pity and interest. When she knew her better she 
found that it was not necessary to pity Alice, for 
she had inherited her uncle’s happy nature, and 
she had also the serene contentment which the 
blind so often possess; but at first Cyntra was 
ignorant of this. All the anger toward the girl 
which she had felt on Juliet’s account passed 
away as she looked at her, and she went for- 
ward to shake hands with her visitors and to 
greet them cordially. 

“We’ve come in just to say good morning,” 
said the Admiral, with his charming smile. “My 
name is Kent, and this is my niece, Alice Cornish. 
I take it that you are Miss Waring. And is this 
your sister? We are not going to ask to see 
your father and mother now, for it is so early in 
the morning that I am sure they are busy. We 
are coming again to call on them. No, Miss 

93 


THE WARING GIRLS 


Waring, thank you, we can’t sit down. We really 
cannot stay long enough. We just want to tell 
you how glad we are that you have come to live 
next door to us, and we hope you will be very 
neighborly.” 

“Is Mildred Waring here?” asked Alice. 

Mildred, who for once had remained in the 
background, came forward. “Why, yes!” she 
said in a surprised way, “here I am right 
here!” 

It was still difficult for her to realize that 
Alice could not see her. 

Alice turned toward the direction from which 
the voice came. “I was very rude,” she said. “I 
oughtn’t to have spoken that way. Is Juliet War- 
ing here?” 

“No, she isn’t,” said Mildred, “and I’d just 
like to know what you meant about Juliet!” All 
her anger came back. Even the presence of the 
Admiral made no difference. “What has Juliet 
ever done to you, I should like to know?” 

“Mildred!” said Cyntra, a note of warning in 
her voice. 

“She didn’t do anything to me, but she did to 
my cousin.” 

“Your cousin?” 

“Yes, my cousin. I mean Miss Snow. She is 
my cousin.” 


94 


THE ADMIRAL INTERVENES 


Silence fell upon Mildred. Then it was the 
valentine! Cyntra, too, was unable to speak. 
She wished with all her heart that her mother 
were there to save this awkward situation — and 
just then, Juliet herself walked into the room. 
She had been sitting on the stairs, which were not 
visible from the front door, and had heard the 
conversation. Her face showed the traces of her 
tears, but it was really beautiful in its softened 
and lovely expression as she came forward. She 
did not offer to shake hands; she stood between 
her two sisters. 

“Are you related to Miss Snow?” she asked. 

Alice started at the sound of the new voice. 
“Who is this?” 

“I’m Juliet Waring. Is it possible that you are 
related to Miss Snow?” 

“Yes.” 

“And does she really live next door?” 

“Yes. You must have known it!” 

“No, I didn’t know where she lived.” 

“But you sent the valentine to our house!” 

“But I didn’t send the valentine! I wrote the 
verses, that was all.” 

“Now, my dear young ladies,” interposed the 
Admiral in his hearty voice, “I think we have 
heard enough about that valentine. When I was 
young we sent a great many valentines, both 

95 


THE WARING GIRLS 


comic and sentimental, but we didn’t spend the 
rest of the year talking about them I Indeed we 
didn’t I And my advice to you is this : don’t put 
too much faith in a valentine ! They never mean 
half they say. If a young man sends you a sheet 
of lace and on it a heart with an arrow stuck 
through it and a verse telling you he is thine, do 
you believe it? Not a bit of it — not if you are 
the kind of girls I think you are I Well, it’s the 
same way with the other kind of valentines — the 
comic ones. You didn’t really mean it. Miss 
Juliet. Now that I’ve seen you I know that you 
didn’t mean it! It was just a joke. Scholars and 
teachers don’t always agree, and scholars will 
play pranks. They always did, and it is safe to 
predict that they always will. My cousin. Miss 
Snow, will feel better some day, and she’ll get 
over it, and in the meantime we must be neigh- 
borly. And now good morning, for we must be 
going home again.” 

“Wait a minute, please,” said Juliet. “I wish 
you would tell Miss Snow how awfully I feel! 
I didn’t mean her to see those verses, really I 
didn’t! I did not send them to her.” 

“That’s all right, and we don’t think now that 
you did, do we, Alice? Now, you young people 
must all be good friends together. Good morn- 
ing! Good morning! Tell your father and 
96 


THE ADMIRAL INTERVENES 


mother that Mrs. Cornish and I are coming in 
very soon.” 

He led his niece down the steps, the three 
Waring girls following them to the front door 
and watching them go. 

“Well,” exclaimed Mildred, “isn’t it too won- 
derful? Think of our moving out to live right 
next door to old Snow!” 

“Don’t ever call her that again, Mildred!” ex- 
claimed Juliet, sharply. “You are perfectly 
dreadful!” 

“Well, I like that!” said Mildred. “And you 
never would have known she lived there if I 
hadn’t crawled along the branch and gotten ac- 
quainted with the blind girl !” 

“Oh, yes, we should! Of course we should 
have found it out sooner or later.” 

“Children, don’t peck at each other,” inter- 
posed Cyntra. “We ought to be thankful that 
the rest of the family are so nice, whatever Miss 
Snow may be. Isn’t the Admiral perfectly charm- 
ing? I can hardly wait to tell father and mother 
about it all.” 

“He certainly is charming,” said Juliet gravely. 
“I think he is like the fifteenth Psalm.” 

“Oh, Ju, you’re too funny!” cried Mildred, 
smiling at her. 

“Isn’t she!” said Cyntra. “Who but Juliet 

97 


THE WARING GIRLS 


would know when a person is like a Psalm?” 

“I read in a book once that the fifteenth Psalm 
is the exact description of a true gentleman,” 
said Juliet. “I looked it up right away, and I 
think it is.” 

Mildred ran off at once to get a Bible and 
look it up for herself, and Cyntra, left alone with 
Juliet, put her arms around her for an instant. 
Juliet stood awkwardly and received in silence 
the kiss which her sister gave her, but she looked 
at Cyntra, and her dark eyes spoke what her 
tongue could not say. 

“It will all come right, dear old girl I” said 
Cyntra; and then they both went off to do what 
must next be done. 

An hour or so later Cyntra was busy in her 
room. The Warings could afford to have but 
one maid, and it was therefore necessary for the 
girls to keep their own rooms in order, so Cyntra 
was hard at work with carpet-sweeper and dust 
brush. She went to the window to shake out a 
cloth just in time to see the invalid next door 
being led to a steamer chair on the back piazza, 
where she was carefully made comfortable by 
Alice Cornish and a lady who was probably 
Alice’s mother. Cyntra stood for a moment 
watching them. Yes, it was certainly Miss Snow, 
in whose class she had been during her two years 
98 


THE ADMIRAL INTERVENES 


at the Sedgwick School. How strange it seemed 
to come upon her here, and how strange it was, 
too, to have neighbors! In New York in the big 
apartment house they saw nothing of the people 
next door, and even those who lived in the same 
house were practically unknown to them. In the 
country it was evidently going to be different, and 
Cyntra on the whole was rather glad. As she 
watched them she could hear what they said. 

“If you don’t mind being left for a little while, 
Evelina, I think Alice and I will go down town. 
I want to get one or two things, and Alice would 
like the walk, and we will stop at the Surgical 
Dressings rooms. Frank has gone to New York 
and will not be home for lunch. We shall not 
be gone very long, but Bobby is at home, if you 
want anything.” 

“I shall not want anything,” said Miss Snow; 
“I have my book, and I am so glad to get out of 
doors again that I shall just lie here and enjoy 
the fresh air. I feel ever so much better already, 
and if anybody comes I can easily see them. I 
feel just like it for a wonder! I actually wish 
someone would come in.” 

“That’s nice,” said Mrs. Cornish; “if I meet 
anyone I think you would like to see, I will send 
them along.” 

“Oh, not unless they wish to ! Not unless they 

99 


THE WARING GIRLS 


suggest it themselves, Mary! I should not want 
anyone to feel obliged to come!” 

Cyntra smiled as she heard this. She moved 
away from the window when she realized that she 
was listening. Then an idea came to her. Miss 
Snow felt like having a caller. Why should not 
she be that caller? It would only be a kind and 
polite thing to do, as she had known her for two 
years and was now a neighbor. She stood still, 
overpowered by the boldness of her plan. Miss 
Snow probably included the whole family in her 
dislike and would therefore not be at all pleased 
to see her. All the more reason, then, for her to 
go immediately and try to straighten out, once 
and for all time, this ridiculous affair of the valen- 
tine. It would not do, however, for Juliet or 
Mildred to suspect what she was going to do, 
for Mildred would insist upon going with her, 
and Juliet would insist upon her not going at all. 
Cyntra walked through the house to see where 
the girls were. She found Juliet writing, and 
Mildred up in the attic, busy with a trunk which 
contained her dolls. She had decided that she 
was too old to play with them herself any longer, 
although she dearly loved each one of them, and 
she would send them all to the Belgian orphans, 
for whom an appeal had just been made. She 
was so absorbed in her task that she did not see 


lOO 


THE ADMIRAL INTERVENES 


or hear Cyntra, as she crept part way up the attic 
stairs and then as quietly crept down again. 

“It’s all perfectly safe, and I’m going to do 
it!” she thought, as she ran out of the house with- 
out stopping to put on her hat, down the front 
path, along the sidewalk, and turned in at her 
neighbor’s gate. 

She rang the door-bell. No one answered it, 
and she rang a second time. A large gray and 
white cat came up the steps, surveyed her as if 
with disdain, turned and with great dignity walked 
away and disappeared around the corner of the 
house. She was just wondering if she dared ring 
a third time — she had now begun to question her 
wisdom in coming to make the call at all — when 
she heard steps inside. It would not do to run 
away now, for she would surely be discovered 
if she did. She must stand her ground, and hope 
for the best. And then the door was opened by 
someone whom she had not seen before. A boy 
of about seventeen stood there. He looked as the 
Admiral might have looked at the same age, for 
his hair was fair, with a funny wave in it which 
made it stand up all over his head, and his eyes 
were blue, and he had a pleasant smile like the 
Admiral’s. He held the door knob with a tight 
grasp, and he looked both interested and embar- 
rassed when he saw who the visitor was. 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Hullo !’* said he, and blushed scarlet. 

“Is your — is Miss Snow at home? But of 
course she is at home, for I saw her on the porch,” 
said Cyntra. “I am Cyntra Waring from next 
door. I mean, can Miss Snow see me?” 

He hesitated, and he did not offer to open the 
door any wider than the half yard at which he 
was holding it as he peered out, but he was smil- 
ing. He said to himself that this girl from next 
door was adorable. And what was it about her 
way of speaking that made her different from 
other girls and so much more attractive ? He was 
not going to turn her away even if Cousin Evie 
had a relapse in consequence. She might, being 
Cousin Evie I 

He slowly enlarged the space formed by the al- 
most closed door: “Come in,” he said, with a 
broad grin ; “I guess she’ll see you I Say, are you 
the valentine girl?” 

“Oh, no I Oh, that old valentine I Poor Juliet 
will never hear the last of it. I’ve come in to see 
Miss Snow and try to straighten things out. She 
was my teacher at the Sedgwick for two years, and 
I always got on with her. Oh, I beg your par- 
don!” 

He grinned again. “That’s all right. I don’t 
always myself. You must be something of a 
saint. Come on out. Cousin Evie, here’s a caller !” 


102 


THE ADMIRAL INTERVENES 


They passed through the door at the end of the 
hall which stood open. Robert Cornish gave one 
glance at his cousin’s face and then thought it 
wiser to vanish. Her expression when she saw 
who was with him was not one of encouragement. 
He went into the dining-room and sat down near 
the window. He must be where he could hear 
that charming voice, even if he could not see the 
girl who possessed it. 

“How do you do, Miss Snow!” said she. “I 
am so sorry you have been ill. We have only just 
learned today that you live next door to us, and 
I thought I would come right in and see you.” 

“I have been very ill indeed,” said Miss Snow, 
“and this is the first time I have been downstairs 
for several weeks. I was much better, but when I 
learned who had come to live right next door to 
us, I suffered a very serious relapse.” 

At this Bobby went off into a fit of silent laugh- 
ter. If that wasn’t Cousin Evie all over! And 
what would the girl say to that? 

“I have no doubt you did,” she replied quickly. 
“I should think you would hate to have us here, 
but I do hope you will get over that feeling. Miss 
Snow. Juliet feels awfully about the whole thing. 
She never meant the verses to go to you. Some- 
one else sent them, and someone else made the 
pictures. She didn’t know anything about it going 
103 


THE WARING GIRLS 


to you until Miss Sedgwick announced it to the 
whole school. And though you do not like Juliet, 
Miss Snow, you must feel that she is truthful. 
No one could know her and not be sure of that, 
could they?” 

The listener in the dining-room drew nearer the 
window. “That girl’s a brick, if ever there was 
one I” he said to himself. “Just hear the way she 
stands up for the other girl I I do hope Cousin 
Evie’ll be decent about it.” 

There was silence for a perceptible instant. 
Then Miss Snow spoke: “I always liked you, 
Cyntra, but I never liked Juliet. However I must 
acknowledge that she is honest. I have always 
believed what she said, even though she has driven 
me nearly frantic, time and again.” 

“But you would believe her now if she told you 
herself?” 

“Y-yes, I suppose sol” 

“Then if you will excuse me for a few minutes. 
Miss Snow, I’ll go and get her.” 

“What, now?” 

“Yes, now — if you don’t mind. Poor old Juliet 
has been crying about it this morning.” 

“She has? Juliet crying? Why, she never 
shows any feeling I” 

“Yes, that’s just it. Juliet is so quiet and un- 
demonstrative no one suspects how much she really 
104 


THE ADMIRAL INTERVENES 


feels things, but she does, more than any of us. 
When she cries she does it so hard we are all 
frightened. I’ll go and fetch her. I may be gone 
a little while, but I’ll come back.” 

Without stopping to heed Miss Snow’s feeble 
remonstrances, and her entreaties to be spared 
further excitement, Cyntra hurried home. Bobby 
Cornish emerged from his hiding-place and went 
to the front door to watch. Would Juliet come? 
Evidently she required some persuasion. At least 
five minutes passed by — then five more. 

“I should think she would do anything that girl 
asked her to do,” said Robert to himself, “and 
I would, I know, and what’s more. I’d do it mighty 
quick!” 


CHAPTER VII 


JULIET CALLS ON MISS SNOW 

J ULIET I Where are you?” 

“Right here. Please, Cyntra, don’t bother, 
ril come to my room a little later. You 
needn’t touch it.” 

“It’s not your room. It’s — ” 

“Oh, I know I forgot to water those plants. I 
should think they could go out of doors now and 
get rained on. Please, Cyntra, don’t bother. I’m 
so busy.” 

“Really, Juliet, I must interrupt you. It’s im- 
portant. I want you to go in next door with me. 
I’m calling on Miss Snow.” 

“You are I Well, I should say you are calling 
on me. What do you mean, anyway, Cyntra? 
You may as well tell me, for I’ve lost that idea, 
and it was such a good one I” 

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have another. And this 
is a better one. It’s a grand chance to go right 
in now and make it up with Miss Snow. She’s ex- 
pecting you. I told her I’d bring you. Hurry up, 
Juliet, before Mildred comes down. She’d be 
io6 


JULIET CALLS ON MISS SNOW 


sure to insist on going with us, and I think we’ll 
do better without her, don’t you? Do come 
quick I’' 

“I should say so I I wouldn’t go a step if Mil- 
dred went. But, Cyntral” 

“Oh, don’t stop for any huts! Just do as I say. 
Come, Juliet, come!” 

And Juliet felt herself grasped by a firm hand 
and actually pulled toward the door. There was 
no stopping Cyntra when she made up her mind, 
and it was evident that she was fully determined. 
The two girls went down the path hand in hand, 
Juliet protesting but going. To Bobby Cornish, 
who was watching from the window, it looked 
very much as it really was — the younger sister, 
who appeared to be very much bigger and stronger 
than the elder, was being dragged in there against 
her will. Robert’s easy smile widened until again 
it could be called a grin. He was delighted with 
those girls next door. They were going to be 
“some fun” he told himself. And then they came 
up the path. He went to the already open door 
and received them. 

“I am not quite sure of your name,” said Cyntra, 
“for you have so many names in here. Now is it 
Kent, Cornish or Snow?” 

“It is Cornish — Robert Cornish, usually known 
as Bobby, at your service!” 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Then Juliet, let me present Mr. Cornish. This 
is my sister, Juliet Waring.” 

“IVe heard of you,” said Bobby, with a wicked 
gleam in his eye. “A poetess, are you not?” 

For a moment Juliet hesitated. She might 
easily laugh or cry. She felt a peculiar excite- 
ment. She glanced at the boy and decided that it 
would be wiser — and perhaps easier, — to laugh. 
“Yes. But I never meant my works to be pub- 
lished.” 

“She’s game!” thought Robert. “Great Scott! 
Aren’t we in luck to get them for neighbors!” 
And he followed them through the house to the 
back door. 

Miss Snow had raised herself in her steamer 
chair and was sitting up straight. The cushions 
that were behind her had fallen to the ground. 
She was looking eagerly toward the door of the 
house and her hands opened and shut with nervous 
rapidity. 

“Juliet Waring,” she exclaimed, in a high shrill 
voice, “you’ve nearly killed me! How are you 
going to excuse yourself ?” 

“I’m not going to try. Miss Snow,” said Juliet. 
“I can only say I’m sorry. I never meant you to 
see the verses. Really and truly, I didn’t.” 

“Well, I suppose I must believe you. I never 
liked you, Juliet. That I shall say frankly. But 
io8 


JULIET CALLS ON MISS SNOW 


I do think you’re truthful. And you are young 
yet, and you may possibly improve, but I doubt it. 
You are one of those strong, powerful persons 
who always make me very nervous. They affect 
me most unpleasantly.” 

“I’m sorry!” said Juliet, meekly. She was per- 
fectly sincere. She did not intend to be funny, 
but both Cyntra and Bobby Cornish found it dif- 
ficult to keep from laughing, especially when Cyn- 
tra happened to glance at Bobby. 

“May we sit down?” she asked. 

They all took chairs. Cyntra began to wonder 
what she should say next. And then to her sur- 
prise, Juliet rose to the occasion. 

“I know you’ve found me rather queer. Miss 
Snow,” she said, in what Cyntra described after- 
ward as “the sweetest way.” She hesitated a min- 
ute and then she went on. “You see I am so stu- 
pid in mathematics. I really don’t know some- 
times how much is seven times nine 1 And as for 
Algebra and those horrible quantities, and x and n 
and all that — well, I just can’t get them into my 
head. It was no wonder we never got on. Miss 
Snow, for you are so clever about it all. I think 
you are quite wonderful. And you know it is easy 
for me to write, and that day when I couldn’t at 
all take in what you were trying so hard to beat 
into me, I just got mad, and scribbled those silly 
109 


THE WARING GIRLS 


rhymes without stopping to think. And then — 
and then — -well, someone else read them and — 
and — I don’t exactly know what happened next. 
But I’m awfully sorry you were made ill.” 

Miss Snow held out her hand. “I believe you,” 
she said emphatically. ^‘Juliet Waring, I believe 
you. We won’t say another word about it, and 
I’ll try hard not to think about it. And perhaps, 
as you’ve come to live next door, we may get to 
like each other a little better. I doubt it, but we 
may I There’s no knowing.” 

The girls went home soon after this, escorted 
to their own gate by Robert Cornish. He assured 
them that he was coming to call on them very 
soon. Then he lifted his hat and walked off down 
,the street, laughing to himself. He would go 
meet his mother and Alice, and have the fun of 
telling them what had been happening in their 
absence. 

The Waring girls lingered for a moment in the 
little front porch. “That is safely over!” said 
Cyntra. “Juliet, you were fine.” 

“I’m glad you made me go in. I didn’t want 
to a bit.” 

“I know you didn’t, but I was sure it was better 
to get it over quickly. Ju, I have an idea 1” 

“Another? Oh, Cyntra! Is it anything about 
me?” 


IIO 


JULIET CALLS ON MISS SNOW 


“No I Don’t be frightened. It’s about mother 
— and perhaps me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Do you see that tiny house on the other side 
of the road?” 

“Of course I do, not being blind like that poor 
girl next door.” 

“And do you see it is to let?” 

“Yes. My eyes are even capable of reading 
that large sign. It is almost as big as the 
house.” 

“I am going to suggest to mother that we take 
it.” 

“Take it! What for? Isn’t this house big 
enough?” 

“No. We’ll move the shop out here!” 

“Cyntra!” 

“Yes. And now prepare for more, Juliet. Not 
only sell the yarns, but open a tea room.” 

“Cyntra !” 

“I believe we could make a great success of it,” 
continued her sister, ignoring the note of protest 
in Juliet’s voice. “We are right on the road to 
New York, and we would have lots of custom 
from the people in motors passing through. 
Mother is giving up the shop in East Codbury, 
and there is so little doing in New York in sum- 
mer. And it is so tiresome for her to go to town 


III 


THE WARING GIRLS 


every day. I believe it would be far better for 
her in every way to have her business out here. 
She might not have as many people dropping in 
as there are in town, but she would have lots of 
mail orders, for she is so widely known now, and 
then people would soon get into the habit of 
motoring out to buy a skein of yarn and have a 
cup of tea. I mean to suggest it to her, even 
though she may not agree. And Juliet!” 

“What else?” 

“You won’t mind it, will you?” 

“Why should I mind?” 

“Because you’ve never half liked the shop.” 

“Oh, I don’t mind it the way I used to. I was 
very silly about it. I was awfully silly about a 
great many things when I was a kid, I know. I’m 
afraid father won’t like it though.” 

“Oh, he’ll come round in the end. He always 
does.” 

They heard a laugh from the window of the 
Study which opened upon the piazza. They looked 
hastily toward it. Their father was there. 

“Apparently I have become one of those modem 
parents we hear so much about nowadays!” he 
said. “I’m entirely managed by my daughters. 
I don’t know what you are planning, but it is evi- 
dently something you are sure I won’t like.” 

“And we’re not going to tell you now, father. 


II2 


JULIET CALLS ON MISS SNOW 


so don’t ask any questions. Mother has got to be 
consulted first!” said Cyntra. 

“Then I’m safe. Your mother will tell me as 
soon as she hears it. But I can’t work this morn- 
ing, girls 1 The spring is too much for me. It is 
so beautiful here 1 I shall have to move back to 
New York to get anything done. Why, I can’t 
keep away from the windows, and the river is 
calling me. Who wants to go for a walk? It is 
Saturday. Let’s all take a holiday!’’ 

This was as wonderful as it was unexpected. 
Very soon the household tasks were deserted and 
the Waring family, including George Junior, who 
had at last returned from the station, were on 
their way to the river. There was a path along 
the bank which they had been intending to explore. 
It lay close to the water’s edge in places, then up 
over knolls and grassy mounds to avoid the 
swampy edge of the stream, then down again to 
the water. The Clyde River gleamed in the May 
sunshine, the sky was blue and flecked with soft 
and feathery clouds. The birches with their white 
bark and soft young leaves glistened in the sun 
like silver. The air was filled with the sound of 
birds. The orioles had come and were whistling 
to one another, red-winged blackbirds were call- 
ing, a wee sparrow perched on a bush poured 
forth a joyous song. 


113 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“After all,” said Mr. Waring, “it is pretty nice 
to be in the country in May. We shouldn’t get 
this in Lexington Avenue.” 

“I am glad it is such a lovely day,” said Cyntra. 
“Nickie and Jim are coming out this afternoon to 
stay over Sunday.” 

“Oh, so they are!” said Juliet. “I had for- 
gotten all about it.” 

“And I have never heard of it,” said their 
father. 

“I shouldn’t think they’d care to come to- 
gether,” said Mildred, with her wise air. 

“Why not?” asked Mr. Waring. “Nickie and 
Jim knew each other long before we ever knew 
of Jim’s existence, and they are pretty good 
friends.” 

Mildred’s only reply was a peculiar, half-sup- 
pressed exclamation which sounded like “hm-hml” 
and was evidently meant to convey the impres- 
sion that she could say much more but did not in- 
tend to do so. Her sisters exchanged a glance of 
dismay. When Mildred took that attitude of 
mind it was necessary to be careful. No one knew 
what she might do or say next. It would have 
been wiser on their part to let the subject drop, but 
Juliet could seldom resist the temptation to speak 
severely to Mildred when she thought reproof 
would be beneficial. 


JULIET CALLS ON MISS SNOW 


“How silly you are, Mildred!’’ she said, with 
an irritating tone of condescension. “You don’t 
know a thing about it. Of course Nickie and Jim 
are intimate friends, just as they have always 
been.” 

“I know a little more than you think. Miss Ju- 
liet Waring!” retorted the younger sister. “I 
happen to have seen Jimmie Waring when I told 
him it was Rosamond who was engaged to Eddie 
Escott and was going to England, and not Cyntra. 
I also happened ” 

“Mildred, there’s a strange new bird over 
there,” interposed Mr. Waring, as though he had 
paid no attention to the conversation. “I haven’t 
seen it before. You had better make a note of it. 
We’ll look it up in the bird book when we get 
home. See its long bill and those curious mark- 
ings?” And instantly Mildred was absorbed in 
watching the new bird, for she and her father had 
agreed to study birds, and the dangerous moment 
was passed over. It might easily come again, how- 
ever, and it did. It was George who brought it 
into being. George was about nine years old. 

“I’m glad some fellows are coming out,” said 
he. “It’s fun when father does things, like this 
morning, but usually he’s busy and then there’s 
nothing but girls.” 

“As if Nickie and Jim were going to pay any 


THE WARING GIRLS 


attention to you!’’ said Mildred, with a sniff of 
disdain. 

“Well, they will I” exclaimed George. “Jimmie 
promised to make an aeroplane for me next time 
he came out, and I’m going to keep him to it. 
I’d like to know why not if he doesn’t 1” 

“I’ll tell you why not. Both Nickie and Jimmie 
— but I guess I won’t say any more just now. 
I’ll ” 

“You’d better not!” ordered Juliet. 

“Juliet, do be careful!” pleaded Cyntra. “It 
doesn’t make any difference what these children 
say.” 

“Oh, doesn’t it!” exclaimed Mildred, now 
deeply offended. She was devoted to Cyntra and 
admired her greatly. Cyntra had never “snubbed 
her,” as Juliet so frequently did, until now. It 
was a distinct shock to Mildred, and she resented 
it keenly. She said no more aloud, but she de- 
termined to “get even with those girls somehow.” 
She could not then decide how it was to be done, 
but she would consider the matter and then 1 

Mrs. Waring came home early on Saturday. 
Her train arrived at Clyde Corners at about half- 
past one, and they had luncheon as soon as pos- 
sible after she reached the house. There was al- 
ways much to be talked over while the meal was 
in progress, and today there was even more than 
Ii6 


JULIET CALLS ON MISS SNOW 


usual, for the morning had been full of interest. 
She was told about the episode in the garden, the 
call of the Admiral and the blind girl, of Cyntra 
and Juliet going next door, and of the walk. 
Everyone had something to say, and Mrs. Waring 
almost forgot how tired she had been when she 
left town at the close of a busy morning, in her 
keen interest in all that had been taking place at 
home. She was especially pleased to hear about 
their next-door neighbors. 

“I think it was very nice of them,” she said. 
‘T appreciate it, for of course they had every 
reason to be offended with us, and not everyone 
would have been so cordial, and so willing to over- 
look the trouble. We must all be very cordial and 
responsive ourselves. Whoever would have 
dreamed of finding poor Miss Snow right next 
door to us I It certainly is odd. I am tired and 
I think I shall rest a little this afternoon. I shall 
kave you to see anybody who may come, Cyntra. 
We may be having callers, now that fine weather 
has set in at last. I will come down about five 
o’clock, but until then, if my family don’t need 
me, I think I will rest.” 

Cyntra looked anxiously at her mother. It was 
so unusual for Mrs. Waring to acknowledge fa- 
tigue. She was pale, and there were heavy circles 
under her eyes. It was certainly too much for her 
117 


THE WARING GIRLS 


to go to New York every day and carry on the 
wearing routine of the shop. Cyntra glanced then 
at her father and saw that he too was looking 
with some anxiety at his wife. It occurred to her 
that it might be an excellent idea to speak to him 
first about the little house across the way, and get 
his approval before suggesting it to her mother. 
When luncheon was over and Mrs. Waring had 
gone upstairs, Cyntra knocked on the study door. 

“Are you too busy to see me for a minute, 
father? Have you begun work?” 

“No, I haven’t. And what is more, I haven’t 
the ghost of an idea, Cyntra ! It’s the spring. Do 
you want to speak to me? Come in and sit down, 
darling.” 

Cyntra loved to call on her father in his study. 
It was an attractive room. The walls were lined 
with shelves filled with books, and pictures hung 
above them. There was an open fireplace, and 
there were three windows. In the center of the 
room was a large table with drawers. It was 
here that Mr. Waring wrote, and it was covered 
with heaps of manuscript, and piles of galley 
proof, for a new book would soon be out. The 
pages of the story upon which he was at work lay 
strewn upon the blotter. Mr. Waring stood and 
gazed at it somewhat ruefully. 

“It Isn’t going well, Cyntra. It’s either the 
Il8 


JULIET CALLS ON MISS SNOW 


spring, or the war. I keep thinking about the war. 
It overshadows everything, even over here. And 
of course we may be in it ourselves before It Is 
over. It is unthinkable, but it Is true. What did 
you want to speak to me about, dear? Anything 
I can do for you?’’ 

“It Is about mother.” 

“What about her? Isn’t she well? I thought 
she was looking badly.” 

Instantly he was alert to know more. He 
turned now and looked at Cyntra, his dark eyes 
searching her face with their eager, penetrating 
gaze. “Don’t keep anything from me.” 

“I’m not, father. I think she Is only tired. She 
hasn’t said anything, but I am sure it is too much 
for her to go to town every day.” 

“Of course it is! That miserable shop! I 
wish ” 

“Now, father dear, do be sensible I Mother 
adores the shop and it would break her heart to 
give it up. And It would be really wrong now that 
she has built up such a good business. But I have 
thought of a way to make it easier. You see that 
little house across the way — that is to let?” 

“I certainly do, my dear I” 

“I think It would be a jolly plan to take it, and 
move the shop out to it! We could fix it up 
beautifully, and I could help her with it. Please 
1 19 


THE WARING GIRLS 


think it over, Dad dearest, and say we may I” 

“And does your mother want to? Why hasn’t 
she spoken about it herself?” 

“Because it is my idea, and not hers I Mother 
doesn’t know a thing about it. I thought I would 
speak to you first. I was sure you would approve 
of anything that would make the shop easier for 
mother, and then between us we can perhaps per- 
suade her.” 

Mr. Waring stood in the window, looking over 
at the empty house. Then he turned and smiled 
at Cyntra. “Clever little lady !” he said. “A true 
woman, knowing just how to get what she thinks 
is going to benefit all around, but to be gained only 
by careful management of her poor old Dad. I 
see through you, my dear, in spite of my mascu- 
line denseness.” 

“You are too smart for me, father — as you 
Yankees say!” 

“You are getting to be a good deal of a Yan- 
kee yourself, Cyntra. But you’ll always be just 
a little different, and I’m glad of it. Now about 
this plan of yours. I think it is quite a good one, 
if the rent isn’t too high.” 

“But it can’t possibly be as high as her shop in 
New York, can it?” 

“That is true. I hadn’t thought of that. Cyn- 
tra, I believe your plan is a good one! We’ll see 


120 


JULIET CALLS ON MISS SNOW 


about It right away. What shall we do first?” 

‘‘I think we had better lay it before mother. 
And it might be just as well, father, for you to 
tell it to her as if it were your own idea. It might 
make her feel more inclined to do it.” 

Mr. Waring laughed. He looked at Cyntra 
with all his affection for her shining in his eyes. 
Then he kissed her. 

“Perhaps you’re right, my child. But we’ll tell 
her later who thought of it first. I promise not 
to claim all the credit.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


MILDRED MAKES PLANS 

T he visitors expected by the Warings for 
the week-end were their cousin, Nickie 
Rufford, and Jim Waring, who, although 
his name was the same as theirs, was in no way re- 
lated to them. In fact his name was actually the 
same as that of their father,. George Waring. He 
had long ago received the nickname of “Sunny 
Jim,” and his family and friends alike had almost 
forgotten that he was really George, and not 
James. He and Nickie Rufford had always known 
each other, and of late they had become close 
friends, perhaps through his intimacy with Nickie’s 
cousins, the Waring girls, to whom he seemed as 
much of a cousin as did Nickie or Phil Rufford. 
The boys had been out to Clyde Corners before 
this to see the new home, but they had not stayed 
there, so this visit was considered something of 
an event, and many preparations had been made to 
give them a good time. 

Cyntra and Juliet, in their bright-colored sweat- 
ers and Panama hats, looked pretty and attractive 
122 


MILDRED MAKES PLANS 


as they walked along Lyman Street that Saturday 
afternoon. As was usual at that time of day, the 
town of Clyde Corners was full of animation. 
Sleepy and dull through the mid-day hours, it 
woke into gaiety when the trains were leaving for 
New York in the early morning or were returning 
thence in the afternoon. Automobiles and car- 
riages sped along the streets and gathered near 
the station ; there were persons walking and shop- 
ping — in short, every day at about the same hours 
the little old town sprang into life. 

‘^Doesn’t it give one a funny feeling not to 
know anyone?” said Juliet. 

“We shall know them soon, _ suppose,” re- 
turned her sister. “I fancy you feel it more than 
I do, for you have lived all your life in one city, 
while I have lived in so many different places. 
Nothing could seem very strange to me now, after 
having come to live in a new country, and not 
even knowing my own father and mother, or my 
sisters and brother, until I got here.” 

“That is true,” said Juliet, thoughtfully. “You 
were quite wonderful, Cyntra. I don’t believe I 
should have done half as well, for I am such an 
old cat about places. Much as I love our house 
here, and having my own room, and everything 
so nice, I am sometimes actually homesick for the 
old apartment, just because I have always lived 
123 


THE WARING GIRLS 


there. Isn’t it silly of me? Oh, Cyntra, did you 
see that car with a lot of girls in it? They were 
the Price girls, I’m almost sure. They are cousins 
of Clara Clifford, or their mother is a cousin of 
her mother, or something. She told Emily Brew- 
ster about them when she heard we were coming 
here to live, and I think I remember meeting them 
once at Clara’s, ages ago. They are turning down 
toward the station, so they must be going to meet 
somebody, too. We had better hurry, Cyntra; it 
is nearly train time.” 

They arrived at the station just as the train 
came in. A number of persons were awaiting it 
on the platform, among them the girls whom Ju- 
liet had seen in the automobile. They all glanced 
at one another with interest, and one of the Prices 
said something to her sister. Then they turned 
toward the train, for the passengers were getting 
off. Jimmie Waring was there, waving his hat and 
smiling broadly, and with him, instead of Nickie 
Rufford, was Philip, who turned to help the girl 
behind him — and the girl was Clara Clifford. 

The Prices stepped forward to greet her, and 
they shook hands also with Phil Rufford, whom 
they seemed to know well, to judge from the cor- 
diality of their welcome. Juliet was so interested 
in watching them that she almost forgot to speak 
to Jimmie. This apparently made not the slight- 
124 


MILDRED MAKES PLANS 


est difference to him, for he was shaking hands 
with Cyntra, and his face showed how glad he 
was to be doing it. He was a good-looking young 
man, with clear blue eyes and bright hair that 
shone like gold as he stood in the sunshine with 
his hat in his hand. His hair and his disposition 
had given him his name, for everyone liked Jim 
Waring. 

‘‘Where is Nickie?” asked Cyntra. “Didn’t he 
come ?” 

“No, and he’s awfully sorry, and he would like 
to come next week instead. Phil wanted to come 
today, and Nickie said it suited him rather better. 
There was something else he wanted to do.” 

Cyntra laughed. “Exactly like Nickie to do 
what he pleases, but fortunately it doesn’t make 
any difference to us, and I’m rather glad to have 
a chance to talk with Phil, for he has been rather 
down, lately, and Rosamond wants me to look 
after him a bit. But do look at Clara Clifford, 
Jimmie, so pleasant to Juliet I What is going to 
happen?” 

“I don’t know, but I shouldn’t wonder if my 
lady Clara had suffered a change of heart, for 
sugar candy was no name for her, coming out 
from town.” 

“Well, I haven’t suffered a change of heart!” 
said Cyntra, as she turned abruptly and walked 

125 


THE WARING GIRLS 


up the street from the station. “I don’t want to 
speak to her if I can possibly help it. She was at 
the bottom of the whole valentine scrape, and I 
wish she hadn’t come out here, for we are just 
getting to be friends again with Miss Snow. Just 
think, Jimmie, we find Miss Snow living right 
next door to us! Did you ever hear anything 
odder than that? And we were in there this 
morning, and she has forgiven Juliet, and now I 
do wish Juliet wouldn’t be so nice to Clara I She 
never can resist that girl. I believe Phil himself 
had something to do with the valentine, though 
I have never said so to anyone else. I am sure 
he drew the pictures. I saw them at Miss Sedg- 
wick’s one day when I went to see her about the 
fuss, and I could hardly keep from saying right 
out that I knew Phil had done them. I am afraid 
I looked conscious, for Miss Sedgwick stared at 
me hard I” 

“Oh, well, don’t worry! That’s over and done 
with,” said Jimmie, with easy masculine indiffer- 
ence to what is past; “you girls keep a thing up 
too long. What’s the odds now? And what are 
you waiting for?” For Cyntra had paused on 
the corner and was looking back before turning 
into Lyman Street. 

girls and Clara are getting into the motor. They 

“I just want to see what they are doing. Those 
126 


MILDRED MAKES PLANS 


have been talking with Juliet and Phil all this 
time ! Oh, dear ! Fm afraid Juliet is really get- 
ting into Clara’s clutches again, and the only good 
thing about the fuss at school was that she was 
out of them for a time I” 

“If you’re only going to talk about that. I’ll take 
the next train back to town,” said Jim, but he 
smiled as he said it. 

“You would have to wait two hours at the 
station,” returned Cyntra, “so you may as well 
walk home with me first.” 

They both laughed and peace was restored, but 
Cyntra was careful to say no more on the ob- 
jectionable subject. Juliet and Phil walked home 
together. Phil seemed to be in excellent spirits, 
but Juliet was thoughtful. The meeting with 
Clara and her cousins had turned out to be quite 
different from what she had expected. Clara had 
kissed her, and introduced her to the Prices as 
her oldest friend. She had exercised all the pow- 
ers of fascination at her command and which she 
knew so well how to use. She had followed Juliet, 
instead of stepping into the waiting car. 

“Julie dear!” she had whispered. “It is so 
nice to see you again ! I am sorry there has been 
such a fuss. I hope you are surely going to be 
in school Monday. Please be there, for I am 
going to make it all right. I ought to have done 

127 


THE WARING GIRLS 


so long ago. But you must forgive me. Til come 
see you while I am out here and bring the Prices. 
They will want to call.” 

Then she had turned and hastened back to the 
automobile. Juliet did not know what to make 
of it. What had brought about this change? 
Was it Philip’s influence? Juliet too had always 
suspected that Phil had drawn the pictures, though 
she had never mentioned her suspicion to anyone. 
She said nothing now, and Philip, keenly alive to 
the beauty of the old town in the afternoon sun- 
shine, did not notice her silence. 

“I’m going to ask Aunt Pauline to let me stay 
here a lot this summer,” he said, standing still to 
gaze at Clyde River with the meadows beyond, 
and then turning to look at the quaint white 
churches which fronted the square, and the newly^ 
leaved trees on either side of Lyman Street. 
“What a corking old town it is 1” 

Mildred, not falling asleep as quickly as usual 
that night, amused herself by “making plans.” 
She had by no means forgotten the “snub,” as she 
called it, administered by Cyntra the day before. 
She was no longer angry, for Mildred’s wrath al' 
ways passed quickly, but she felt like having some 
fun herself and at the same time, “paying it back 
to Cyntra.” Mildred’s conversation and thoughts 
128 


MILDRED MAKES PLANS 


were usually in terms that expressed her feelings 
forcibly but were not altogether free from slang, 
which distressed her mother, and was more pic- 
turesque than strictly proper. 

Even when dinner time came the next day she 
had not yet decided in which way she could most 
successfully irritate her elder sister, although sev- 
eral schemes had presented themselves to her fer- 
tile brain. Even in church that brain had been 
busy with thoughts not altogether connected with 
the service, and even the fact that Clara Clifford 
had sat in front of them with the Price girls, had 
turned and smiled at Juliet, and had afterward, 
when they were all outside, introduced her cou- 
sins and made an appointment with Juliet for an 
afternoon expedition of some sort— even all these 
amazing developments in the “school fuss’’ had 
not turned Mildred’s attention entirely from Cyn- 
tra. She wished to find out what her sister and 
Jimmie were going to do that afternoon, and while 
apparently deeply engaged with her dessert she 
listened with eager interest to the conversation. 
Experience had taught her that she could gain 
more information by quietly listening than by ask- 
ing the pointed questions that were trembling on 
her lips. The minute she drew attention to her- 
self by what seemed to her a well-timed query, 
people stopped talking. It was strange and it was 
129 


THE WARING GIRLS 


provoking, but it was true. So, while thoroughly 
enjoying her lemon jelly, which happened to be a 
favorite of hers, she listened with close attention 
to all that was being said. 

“It Is too bad that you and Jim won’t go with 
us to the Prices’, Cyntra,” said Juliet. “I think 
some of the other girls who live here will probably 
be there, for I saw Fannie Price speaking to some 
girls as if she were asking them, and then they all 
looked over at us, and you would get to know 
them.” 

“Oh, we shall know them soon enough,” re- 
plied Cyntra, “and Jimmie wants to go up to the 
Palisades. It would be a pity to lose this good 
afternoon. I am not so very anxious to take tea 
with your friend Clara, and the Prices will be 
here all summer, I suppose.” 

“What Is going on at the Prices’?” asked her 
father. 

“Oh, just a walk with them, and then back to 
their house for tea,” said Juliet. “Cyntra and 
Jimmie — ” she paused. 

“Have a previous engagement,” Jimmie fin- 
ished for her. “Phil may have come out here to 
see the Prices and Clara Clifford, but I didn’t. I 
came to see the Warings.” 

“Or a Waring?” put in Phil wickedly. 

“It will be a Waring if all the other Warings 
130 


MILDRED MAKES PLANS 


go off to play with a Clifford!” retorted Jimmie, 
with a broad grin, and without being in the least 
abashed. 

Everyone laughed, for his devotion to Cyntra 
was a recognized fact in the family. It was so 
open and acknowledged that it never occurred to 
anyone to pretend that it did not exist. Jimmie 
made no attempt to hide his hopes, but Cyntra was 
different. Even Jim did not know whether her 
feeling for him was only that of a good friend or 
was something more. Perhaps Cyntra did not 
know herself. She, also, was not in the least em- 
barrassed by the conversation and laughed with 
the others. 

Jimmie looked across the table at her and 
said to himself that he could not stand this 
sort of thing any longer. It was all very well to 
laugh, but he must know, and he must know soon, 
whether Cyntra would marry him some day or 
whether she wouldn’t. If the plans for the after- 
noon were carried out, why could he not ask her 
that very day? They were so seldom alone to- 
gether. There might not be another chance for 
weeks. He would do it! 

He looked up after several minutes of silence 
to find Mildred’s eyes fixed upon him. “That 
child is perfectly uncanny,” he said to himself; 
“what is she up to now? Does she know what I 


THE WARING GIRLS 


am thinking? She looks exactly as if she did!” 
But there was no way or finding out, and Mildred 
calmly passed her plate for a second helping of 
the desirable lemon jelly. 

“And where are you going?” asked Mrs. War- 
ing. “Mildred, that is all I am going to give you- 
Up the hill, I suppose.” 

“Yes, mother,” said Cyntra, “for I want Jimmie 
to see the view from there. This is such a clear 
day. I wish I knew the short cut to the top, but 
I don’t, so we will have to go by the usual path. 
However it is a lovely path. Don’t any of you 
want to go with us?” she continued hospitably, 
glancing around the table. Jimmie waited in some 
suspense. 

“Your father and I are going for a little walk 
by the river and then we will go to church again, 
so that will be enough for us. Perhaps Mildred 
and George will like to go with us to walk.” 

But Mildred and George showed no enthusiasm, 
and Mildred explained to her mother after dinner 
that they wished to go on an exploring expedition 
themselves. She did not say in which direction. 
Her mother told her to be careful not to get lost, 
but as she was never particularly nervous about the 
children she made no objection to their going off 
together in this way, and presently they set out 
while the others still lingered on the porch. 

132 


MILDRED MAKES PLANS 


“It’s lucky we know the short cut,” said George, 
when they were out of hearing. 

“And it’s lucky they don’t know we know it I” 
returned Mildred. Then they stepped from the 
road by which they had gone to church that morn- 
ing into a path which led first across a cultivated 
field on the hillside and then into the outskirts of 
a wood. In a moment more they had vanished 
among the bushes. 

The Prices had agreed to call for Juliet and 
Phil, and soon their voices were heard in gay con- 
versation as they drew near the house. Cyntra, 
when she saw them coming, rose hurriedly and 
went into the house, telling Jim that she would get 
her hat and be ready in a few minutes. Juliet 
guessed the reason for her hasty departure: Cyn- 
tra did not wish to meet Clara Clifford. It was 
too bad, she thought, when she herself had wholly 
forgiven Clara for anything she might have done. 
However, it was all to be made clear tomorrow, 
and Juliet, at last free from care, determined to 
enjoy the afternoon to the utmost. She liked Har- 
riet Price, and she was glad to see that Kitty 
Keith, another of the Clyde Corners girls, was of 
the party. There were one or two boys also, and 
as they passed the next house they called to Rob- 
ert Cornish to join them. He accepted the invita- 
tion with alacrity, and they set forth, a merry 

133 


THE WARING GIRLS 


crowd. When they were quite out of sight and 
hearing, Cyntra came downstairs, and presently 
she and Jim had passed out of the gate also and 
had taken the road up over the hill. 

“Nothing left but us old people,” said Mr. 
Waring. “But we’re going to have just as good 
a time as they are, aren’t we, dearest of all?” 

“We certainly are!” said Mrs. Waring, smiling 
at him. “But this old person has got to take a bit 
of rest first.” 

“She’s tired,” he thought, looking after her. 
“Cyntra is right. It is too much for Pauline to 
go to New York every day. I wish she would 
give up the shop, but she won’t, and so I’ll tell 
her of Cyntra’s plan this very afternoon.” 

Mildred and George found their way to the top 
of the hill without difficulty. The path was well 
worn, and after leading through a thick wood, 
came suddenly into the open, where a wide and 
wonderful view lay before them. They did not 
stop then, however, to look at the view. There 
was no time to be lost. 

“We’ve got to go through here,” said Mildred, 
pointing to a small opening in the underbrush on 
the other side of the cleared space. “When you 
come up by the road you come along this little 
path to see the view. Now we had better go 
through a little way and find a tree that we can 

134 


MILDRED MAKES PLANS 


climb. We had better each take a tree, so that 
we’ll have two chances to hear what they are say- 
ing. We’ll be a little way apart, so you can hear 
when I don’t, and I can hear when you don’t. 
And you must be sure to tell me exactly word for 
word, George, if you are the one who hears the 
most.” 

“Why do you want to hear them so awfully 
much?” asked George, stopping to pick up a stick 
which would be excellent for slashing bushes and 
grass as he walked. He had seen men doing this, 
and he rather fancied the amusement. Besides, it 
looked grown-up. 

“Because I am perfectly sure they are going to 
get engaged this afternoon! I am just dying to 
hear a proposal, and I shall have to wait so long 
before anyone will propose to me — six or seven 
years anyhow.” 

“Perhaps nobody ever will,” suggested her 
brother. “Perhaps when you grow up you’ll be 
quite ugly.” 

“Why, George Waring, the idea 1 People have 
always said I was sweet! They’ve even said I 
was awfully fascinating, and that my hair was 
lovely! I wouldn’t get ugly in six or seven years, 
would I?” She waited anxiously for the mascu- 
line verdict. 

“Oh, your hair is all right now,” he replied, 

135 


THE WARING GIRLS 


with brotherly frankness, “but of course you might 
have a fever, or something, and it might all fall 
out. I don’t know as I should call you pretty, 
you’re so thin. And I don’t think you’re much of 
a fascinator. You’d never fascinate me or any 
of the fellows I know. You know very well you 
can’t throw a ball worth a cent, and when you get 
your bicycle apart you can’t put it together again. 
You always have to ask me to do it. Oh, no, I 
don’t believe any fellow is ever going to ask you 
to marry him. I know I wouldn’t.” 

“Oh, dear!” sighed Mildred, much depressed. 
“I know I can’t put a bicycle together, but I have 
always thought from what I have heard people 
saying about me when they didn’t think I under- 
stood, that I was pretty. I’m frightfully disap- 
pointed about that. Well, then, if no one is ever 
going to want to marry me, I shall try harder than 
ever to hear Jimmie this afternoon, for I must 
hear for myself how a man does it. Of course 
you read about it in books, but you can’t tell ex- 
actly from books, for most of those mother al- 
lows me to read are so fearfully old-fashioned. I 
want to hear the real thing and in the very latest 
style. In those old-fashioned books the man often 
goes down on his knees, just like saying his pray- 
ers, but I don’t think that is at all the style now. 
And I was wondering all through dinner if Jim 
136 


MILDRED MAKES PLANS 


had an engagement ring in his pocket, all ready.” 

“Girls are queer,” observed George. “Who 
cares for all that? I came out for the fun of 
climbing some trees, or something. I hope I’ll get 
to know some of the fellows who live here soon. 
Hullo! This is great, isn’t it?” 

The path had led them by devious wanderings 
to another cleared space, and from here a mar- 
velous view lay spread out before them. They 
stood for a few moments in silence, both impressed 
by the wonder and the beauty of the scene. Then 
Mildred bethought herself of her object in com- 
ing. 

“We had better find some trees right away that 
we can climb,” she said, briskly. “It won’t do to 
waste our time looking at the view when they may 
catch us right out here in the open at any minute. 
I never saw this place before, did you? Where 
do you suppose we are ? And is there a path here 
from the road? It would be too bad if they didn’t 
come this way after all. Come away from the 
open part and let’s choose our trees.” 


CHAPTER IX 


A QUESTION 

M ildred could not, of course, feel sure 
that her sister would come that way, but 
as several paths were found upon inves- 
tigation to lead to the clearing, she decided that 
there were several chances in her favor, and as 
there were two trees suitable for climbing that 
were close to one of the paths, she promptly chose 
one of them and waved George to the other. In a 
few minutes each was established on a branch 
which afforded an excellent seat, and was also hid- 
den from anyone who might happen to pass by. 
Mildred had taken the precaution to walk along 
their path after George went up his tree. She 
could not discover the slightest sign of him, and 
she hoped and believed that her own nook was 
equally secluded. George began by calling over 
to her in a loud voice, but she quickly silenced 
him, he by this time having reached the same 
thrilling state of suspense that she was in herself. 
To hide from the world and wait for something 


A QUESTION 


to happen is intensely exciting during the first few 
moments. 

For some minutes only the wood sounds could 
be heard; faint knockings, the fall of a little 
branch, the breeze rustling the leaves, the chirping 
of birds and the shrill scolding of squirrels — those 
sounds which make the woods seem so still — the 
noise which intensifies the quiet. And then they 
heard approaching footsteps! 

They listened eagerly, Mildred leaning forward 
and clutching a small branch with which to steady 
herself. Surely Cyntra and Jimmie were coming 
at last! It did not occur to her that others as 
well as themselves might choose to walk that way 
this beautiful Sunday afternoon. Her mind, con- 
centrated on the one thing, had no room for any- 
thing else. She watched the path. The steps drew 
nearer. There was a crackling and the sound of 
gay voices — and then, to her disappointment, the 
party of young people who had left the house just 
after she and George had gone came into sight. 
They were walking in twos and threes, some 
straggling along behind the others. The last to 
appear, some few minutes after the rest had dis- 
appeared around the bend in the path, were Juliet 
and Philip Rufford. They were walking slowly 
and were in earnest conversation. It was now so 
still all about them that even though their voices 

139 


THE WARING GIRLS 


were low, Mildred could hear distinctly what they 
said. 

“I can tell you, Tm getting mighty tired of it!’’ 
Phil spoke in tones of bitterness. “Father won’t 
listen to my being an artist, and as he had his own 
way about Nickie he thinks he can about me, but 
he will find that I’m different. I can’t help being 
different. It isn’t my fault. And of course I 
know he doesn’t mean to be so — well, so cruel! It 
amounts to that.” 

“Why, Phil I” exclaimed Juliet, “you know your 
father is the kindest man about everything else 
I ever knew I There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for 
you boys, except let you do what you want to do 
to make a livdng. He thinks he knows best. It’s 
simply that he doesn’t understand that you are 
not both cut out by the same pattern as himself. 
He’s never had anything to do with artists.” 

“No, and so he says they just sit and daub on 
paint, and it takes years for them to get anywhere, 
if they ever do. It’s only the big fellows who do, 
he says, and they’re mighty rare birds, and it’s evi- 
dently a preposterous and most amusing idea that 
any son of his could ever become one of the big 
fellows! Well, I’d just like to haye the chance 
to show him 1 Of course, this sounds awfully con- 
ceited and all that, but I want to try. I just can’t 
and won’t stand it much longer. If he’d only let 
140 


A QUESTION 


me spend the summer painting I Taking lessons, 
I mean — but no, he won’t even give in on that. If 
I had the money I’d either do it on my own, or 
I’d go over and see Rosamond, and sooner or 
later get into the war, somehow. I’d like to help 
those plucky little Frenchies. I liked them mighty 
well when I was over there.” 

“Oh, Phil I Please don’t suggest anything so 
dreadful. You know it would nearly kill Aunt 
Mildred!” 

“Well, I more than half mean it. I’d rather 
be shot, I’d rather be blown up and done for by 
a submarine, I’d rather have a German bomb drop 
out of a Zeppelin on me, than exist here without 
painting. You don’t know what it is. I can’t take 
any pleasure in anything. This view from up here 
simply maddens me, because I want to express it, 
and he won’t let me learn how to do it properly. 
He doesn’t forbid my painting, but he won’t give 
me any money for lessons, and he won’t let me 
take any of the free courses.” 

They were standing still, directly under Mil- 
dred’s tree. 

“Poor Phil!” said Juliet, “I do feel awfully for 
you ! If you would only let me speak to somebody, 
mother or your Aunt Margaret or ” 

“Of course I won’t!” Phil interrupted her al- 
most roughly. “What do you take me for? 
141 


THE WARING GIRLS 


You’re not to say a word. No one must know 
my plans. But come on, or the others will be 
coming back, and I don’t want anyone to know. 
Promise !” 

They passed out of sight, and as Mildred could 
hear no more, she did not know what Juliet prom- 
ised, but she had heard enough to set her think- 
ing. She was a little ashamed to have heard at 
all, for it was evident that Phil had been speak- 
ing most confidentially to Juliet. She should have 
let them know that she was there, perched above 
them, and listening to every word they said, but 
in her intense interest in their conversation it had 
not occurred to her to do this. She wished that 
she had thought of it, for it would have been 
such fur to cry “Boo I” and have watched them 
jump. 

She did not feel especially guilty of eavesdrop- 
ping, for she would have made her presence known 
had she thought of it in time. Evidently her 
cousin was very unhappy. She had never seen 
him like that before, for Phil was one who used 
laughter as a cloak to hide his real feelings. He 
was extremely reserved, but as he could be very 
amusing, Mildred had always associated him with 
fun and cheerfulness. She felt quite sorry for 
him now, and she did not wonder that Juliet 
wished to help him in some way. She wondered 
142 


A QUESTION 


if she could herself help him. She was bound by 
no promise. 

She was cramped in the position that she was 
in, and she longed to move. She was not sorry 
when George called to her from his tree. As it 
was at a considerable distance from hers she 
thought he had not heard the conversation which 
had been carried on in low tones directly under 
her. 

“Mil, I’m going to jump down. It’s no fun 
here. You can stay if you like, but I’m going after 
the others.” 

“I think I will, too. I don’t believe Cyntra and 
Jim are coming. It’s mean of them not to. How 
are you going to get down?” 

“Jump, of course.” And he proceeded to do it. 

“Oh, my tree is awfully high !” 

“What if it is?” 

“But I can’t possibly jump so far I” cried Mil- 
dred, peering down. “Come and help me, please^ 
George !” 

“ ’Fraid cat! ’Fraid cat!” George was now 
leaping and dancing around her tree, glad to have 
a chance to tease her, and at the same time to 
stretch his legs. 

“I’m not a ’fraid cat!” retorted Mildred, stung 
by his taunts. “You’ll see that it will kill me, cer- 
tain sure !” 


143 


THE WARING GIRLS 


She grasped the limb, swung from it for a mo- 
ment, and then dropped. She landed on uneven 
ground, her foot gave way, and with a cry of pain 
she fell. She lay there, very still. George, danc- 
ing up to her, saw that she was white and her eyes 
were closed. 

“You’re fooling!” he exclaimed. 

There was no answer. 

“Mil, you’re fooling!” 

Again there was no answer. He bent over her. 
“It did kill her!” he exclaimed. “She’s dead!” 

He tore along the path in pursuit of the boys 
and girls who had passed. He overtook them 
soon, for those in front had paused where their 
path met the road to wait for Juliet and Phil, and 
now they were all standing there, laughing and 
talking together. On hearing George’s shouts 
they turned toward him. 

“Mildred’s dead!” he called out. “Come help 
me get her home ! I’m sure she’s dead !” 

Juliet did not utter a sound, but in a flash she 
had dashed past him and soon she had reached 
Mildred and was kneeling beside her. She saw at 
once that George had been mistaken, for Mildred 
in a moment recovered consciousness. The mists 
began to clear away, and she looked up at the 
face of her sister bending over her, while George 
and the others surrounded her, wondering what 
144 


A QUESTION 


they had better do. When she saw George she re- 
membered. 

“You made me jump, George,*’ she murmured, 
“and it hurt my foot awfully.” 

“It’s her foot!” said Harriet Price. “She has 
probably sprained her ankle. We ought to get her 
shoe off right away, before it begins to swell, or 
we’ll never get it off.” 

“Oh, take it off, please!” moaned Mildred. 
“It’s hurting awfully!” 

, “What did that woman doctor say to do in case 
of a sprain, in our ‘First Aid’ course?” asked 
Frances Price, excitedly. “I know what to do if 
she’d cut an artery, or if she’d had a fit of apo- 
plexy, but I can’t seem to remember about 
sprains.” 

“It may not be a sprain,” suggested Clara Clif- 
ford. “She may have broken a bone.” 

“Oh!” groaned Mildred, “have I broken a 
bone?” 

Juliet, in the meantime, with the help of Philip 
was removing the shoe. “I think we had better get 
her home as soon as we can,” she said, “but how 
shall we ever get her there ? Can we carry her all 
the way? It’s two or three miles, isn’t it?” 

“We fellows will carry her,” said Robert Cor- 
nish, “Rufford and I can make a chair of our 
hands. That will be easy enough.” 

145 


THE WARING GIRLS 


‘‘We’ll take turns,” said Arthur Homans. 
“When you fellows get tired, Tom Foster and I 
will take a turn.” 

The boys seemed to know exactly how to do it, 
and in a few minutes two of them had lifted her 
and placed her on the chair made by the hands 
of the other two, and she was being borne along 
the path, George leading the way, and the others 
all following the invalid. The pain having abated 
somewhat, Mildred began to enjoy the situation. 
She only hoped that they might meet someone. 
Perhaps — oh, perhaps ! — they might yet come 
across Cyntra and Jimmie ! To meet them now — 
to be discovered in the act of being carried home 
after a serious accident by two boys, and escorted 
by a large crowd of other boys and girls — it would 
be thrilling, to say the least. It would quite make 
up for the failure of Mildred’s earlier plans for 
an afternoon’s entertainment. 

Cyntra and Jimmie had started off at a brisk 
gait but had gradually slackened their pace as they 
climbed the hill. Cyntra, always on the lookout 
for growing things, stopped constantly to exclaim 
with delight over the wild flowers that had sprung 
up on either side of the road, or to examine the 
buds on the bushes, or to listen to the song of a 
bird. She did not notice Jimmie’s silence, for the 
146 


A QUESTION 


two were such good friends that silence was as 
natural as speech. 

“I wish we knew the short cut,” said Cyntra at 
last. “It is up here somewhere, for I heard that 
it was above the church.” 

“Why do you want a short cut?” asked Jimmie. 
“There’s no hurry.” 

“No, there’s no hurry, but they say it is so 
pretty. It is right through the woods. Here is a 
path, Jimmie. Shall we try it? It might be the 
one, and even if it isn’t, it must lead somewhere, 
for it is quite well worn. Let’s see where it goes.” 

He said nothing, but he followed her along the 
path. After a short walk through the under- 
growth where the way was narrow, it suddenly be- 
came much wider. 

“Of course this must be it,” said Cyntra, “and 
I am glad we have found it. It is such fun to ex- 
plore instead of knowing just what we are going 
to do. Jimmie, what’s the matter? You are as 
solemn as twenty judges. Are you worried about 
anything, old man?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Oh, Jimmie, what is it? Can’t you tell me 
about it? I should like to help you if I could.” 

“You can help me all right.” 

They were walking now side by side, and he 
turned and looked down at her. He was much 
147 


THE WARING GIRLS 


taller than she, and of good breadth of shoulder. 
She was of medium height and slender, and she 
was very pretty in her rose sweater and short 
walking skirt of the same bright shade. She had 
taken off her hat and her hair gleamed like copper 
when the sun caught it. Her cheeks glowed with 
the exercise, for she had not lost her English color- 
ing, and her blue eyes shone with friendliness as 
she looked up at him. They wer^ too friendly 
and frank to please Jim. They filled him with a 
feeling of dismay and despair. He was sure that 
she did not care for him as he did for her, and 
perhaps by speaking to her he should lose even her 
friendship. Girls were such strange creatures. 
Accustomed all his life to them, and especially to 
Cyntra ever since she came to America, he felt 
that even yet he did not understand them. When 
they were the most open and frank in their manner 
they might yet be hiding something. He had 
known it to happen. Perhaps, now, she was trying 
to hide — he must find out! He could bear it no 
longer. 

“Cyntra,” he said, “you are the only person I 
can tell what is worrying me, and the only person 
in the whole world who can help me, and yet I 
am afraid to tell you what it is.” 

Something in his voice even more than in his 
words, stirred her. She said nothing, for she did 
148 


A QUESTION 


not know what to say. For a minute or so they 
walked on in silence. Then he spoke again. 

“You must know — I am almost sure you know 
— oh, hang it I I may as well say it right out. I — 
oh, you know I’m an awfully stupid sort of a fel- 
low, Cyntra. I never could be flowery.” 

“Who wants you to be flowery? I like flowers 
in their place, but really you know, I haven’t much 
use for flowery people.” 

He glanced at her sharply. It almost seemed as 
if she were laughing at him. He never was farther 
from laughter in his life. On the contrary he al- 
most felt like crying. There actually was a lump 
in his throat and he could not get his voice. He 
had not felt this way since he was a little kid and 
they had told him his baby sister was dead. What 
on earth was the matter with him ? He cleared his 
throat violently and with visible effort began again. 

“Cyntra, don’t ! I can’t bear it. I — I love you, 
Cyntra, better than anyone in the world. Some- 
times it seems as if there were no one else in the 
world but you. I have felt so ever since I first 
saw you, that night you got here and I went to the 
Wests’, and then again that same winter when you 
had lost your way in the snow storm. Do you 
know, I never pass that bookshop on Fifth Avenue 
without thinking of you, and how you looked that 
night! And we have been such good friends ever 
149 


THE WARING GIRLS 


since — ^but I don’t want to be just friends, Cyntra. 
I want you to marry me. Don’t you — don’t you — 
think maybe you could? I know I’m — oh, I know 
it’s no use ! I’m such a duffer. If it’s got to be 
no, please say it quickly and put me out of sus- 
pense.” 

He dared not look at her. He stalked on, 
slashing the bushes with his stick, he being one of 
those whom George had desired to copy. 

“Oh, Jimmie dear!” said Cyntra. “Why must 
you — be like this? We’re such good friends. It 
is so nice as it is! Why do you want to change 
things?” 

“Then you don’t care for me ?” 

“Yes, I do! I care most awfully. I like you 
better than anybody else — any of the boys, I mean. 
But I don’t want — anything different. I want to 
stay with father and mother and the children. 
You know I haven’t lived with them very long, 
Jimmie, and I do love being with them, and some- 
how ” 

“I know,” said he, gloomily. “It is just as I 
thought. You care more for your family than you 
do for me.” 

“It does seem as if I did. You see, Jimmie, I 
feel this way. If I cared for you as I ought to 
if I were going to marry you, I should be willing 
to do just as Rosamond has done — left her father 
150 


A QUESTION 


and mother and brothers and all her friends, and 
crossed the ocean in the midst of danger to live 
in a strange country with a woman who is almost 
a stranger to her, just because she cares so much 
for a man that she would rather help him by being 
with his mother than to stay with her own mother 
at home. She is ready to sacrifice everything for 
Eddie. I know she would gladly go to the front 
herself, if that would help him. Now I think that 
is the way a girl ought to feel about the man she 
is going to marry and — and — I really don’t feel 
that way about you, Jimmie dear! Fm awfully 
fond of you. You’re one of my best friends. 
You’re more like a real cousin than Nickie, but — 
but — I wouldn’t go to the front for you, Jim- 
mie 1” 

“And no one wants you to go to the front 1 That 
is absurd, Cyntra. And I am not asking you to 
leave your family. You could stay right here with 
them. We could live near them. I am only ask- 
ing you to marry me. We’re such good friends 
and — and — perhaps you would get to love me 
more, Cyntra. I know it’s asking an awful lot of 
you, but — I — oh, hang it! I don’t know how to 
say it, but I care so much. Why do you bring up 
such a case as Rosamond and Eddie? I don’t see 
what they have to do with it. They are two 
very different people from us. They are mixed 

151 


THE WARING GIRLS 


right up with the war. We are outside of it.” 

“But we might not be. And it gives me some- 
thing to judge by. I have thought of it often since 
Rosamond went. I have often asked myself the 
question. ‘Is there anyone in the world whom you 
would do it for, Cyntra Waring? Can you imagine 
yourself caring enough for anyone you know to 
leave everybody just for him? And just after you 
have come to such a happy home and such a dear 
family?’ And every time I say, ‘No, there isn’t! 
There’s no one I care for like that!’ I shall al- 
ways use it for a test. I shall never marry anyone 
unless I’d be willing to do as Rosamond did, if it 
were necessary.” 

He said nothing. They walked on for several 
minqtes in silence. They were again in the thicker 
woods where the path was narrow. Then, as they 
came to another path which forked to the right 
from the one they were on, she, being in front of 
him, turned and stood still. She looked up at him, 
still with the frank friendship in her eyes. 

“I think,” she said shyly, “it is very much like 
our walk, isn’t it? We aren’t quite sure of the 
way. Here are two paths — and we’d better keep 
to the wider one! That is friendship. That is 
safe. We don’t quite know where the other would 
take us — at least, we don’t know yet! It might 
be all right but — oh, I can’t, Jimmie! Not yet! 
152 


A QUESTION 


rm not ready. Please put It out of your mind and 
just be friends!” 

“I can’t put it out of my mind, dear. I care too 
much. But we can be friends. There needn’t be 
any difference. I wouldn’t give up your friend- 
ship for anything, and — perhaps — some day — ^you 
might, you know, feel you could say something 
different!” 

“Perhaps — but don’t count on it, Jimmie! I 
don’t want to feel you’re counting on It. I want 
to feel free.” 

“You are perfectly free,” he said quietly. “I 
shall not bother you. I promise to be very care- 
ful.” 

She did not guess how much the promise cost 
him. She was Ignorant of the strength of his 
feeling. She was not quite nineteen, and she was 
young even for her years. To her, to be only 
friends was an easy matter once he had made up 
his mind to It, and she determined to be a very kind 
friend to him, as a reward. She would be just 
as nice as she knew how to be. It never occurred 
to her that by so doing she would make it harder 
than ever for him. 

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him in the 
way that seemed to him the most adorable of all 
her lovely ways. “Let’s shake hands on it, Jimmie 
dear!” 


153 


THE WARING GIRLS 


She held out her hand. For a moment he stood 
there without taking it. She was asking too much 
of him. Then, very gently he took it and held it 
for an instant. 

“We will!” he said, and his voice was gentle, 
too. “And, Cyntra, you can depend on me. We’ll 
be — just friends! That is — we’ll be that now. 
I’ll try — to wait!” 

And then they both heard the sound of ap- 
proaching footsteps and much talking and 
laughter. He let go her hand and they walked 
on. In another minute, around a bend in the 
path, an odd procession came into sight. 


CHAPTER X 


CLARA CONFESSES 

F irst came George, walking with the dig- 
nity and the martial air of a drum major. 
He carried Mildred’s hat in one hand, and 
somebody’s cane in the other. Behind him were 
Juliet and Clara and behind them were two of 
the boys bearing between them, one of her arms 
thrown around the shoulders of each, Mildred! 
Cyntra looked, and looked again. Yes, it was 
Mildred. What prank was that child engaged in 
now? Mischief of some sort, her sister felt no 
doubt. The injured foot at first escaped notice, 
for Cyntra was looking at the expression of her 
face. It was that of having achieved something 
surpassingly new and exciting, and Mildred did 
not long leave her in ignorance of what it was. 

“Oh, Cyntra,” she called out, “I’m so glad we’ve 
met you I I’ve been wondering where you were. 
I’ve sprained my ankle, or else I’ve broken it, or 
something else dreadful. It’s very bad, whatever 
it is, and I fainted, Cyntra I Fainted quite dead 
away. I thought I was really dead for awhile, and 

155 


THE WARING GIRLS 


so did all the others. What do you think of that? 
It’s been awfully exciting! And these boys are 
carrying me home 1” 

She announced this self-evident fact with in- 
tense satisfaction. Thus far in her life of adven- 
ture she had never met with so unusual an event. 

‘Wes,” said Juliet, “I don’t know what she could 
possibly have wanted to climb trees for, up on the 
Palisades, but that is what she was doing, and she 
has hurt her foot, and we think it is sprained. 
Fortunately we all happened along at just the right 
minute, or rather, George happened to find us. 
I don’t know where he came from, but he man- 
aged to get us somehow.” She introduced to her 
sister Arthur Homans and Tom Foster, who were 
the bearers at that moment. 

Cyntra introduced Jim Waring, and then she 
said somewhat doubtfully: “Are you sure Mil- 
dred can’t walk? I think you are very good to 
carry her, but don’t you think she might if she 
tried?” She had known her young sister to make 
much of a simple ailment before now. 

“Why, Cyntra, the idea!” exclaimed Mildred 
with great indignation. “I like that! I just wish 
you could feel it for a minute yourself! Of 
course I can’t walk! It’s a very bad sprain. If 
you don’t believe me you can just look at my foot. 
It’s enormous.” 


156 


CLARA CONFESSES 


‘*We think it is rather a bad sprain,” said 
Juliet. 

“That’s too bad!” said Cyntra, repenting of 
her doubts. “Excuse me, Mildred dear! Fm aw- 
fully sorry. But can’t I help in some way?” 

■ “No, we’ll just get her home as quickly as we 
can,” said Tom Foster. “Suppose we go right 
on.” 

Jim Waring offered to take the place of one 
of them, but they would not hear of it, and in 
due time they reached home and the invalid was 
placed upon the sofa in the living-room, just as 
her father and mother turned in at the gate from 
church. 

The doctor was sent for, and as he pronounced 
the sprain to be serious enough for her to remain 
for a few days with her foot up, the next morning 
found Mildred established as a semi-invalid. It 
was a position which she dearly loved, and while 
Cyntra, who was left in charge, was busy putting 
the room to rights, Mildred gazed at her long and 
thoughtfully. She said to herself that after all she 
had discovered nothing of her sister’s affairs. 
Even now she did not know whether Cyntra and 
Jimmie had become engaged. It was certainly an- 
noying that she had missed them the day before 
so completely. She rather thought that nothing 
had come to pass, for Jimmie, usually so smiling, 

157 


THE WARING GIRLS 


was looking somewhat sober when he came up to 
bid her good-by. In fact, he had looked very 
much as he had looked one day during the winter 
when she had met him in the street in New York 
and had told him that Rosamond was going over 
to marry Eddie Escott, and he had misunderstood 
her and had thought she meant that Cyntra was 
going. Truly it was all a puzzle. 

But on the whole, Mildred was not altogether 
sorry that she had made an effort to discover a 
few things for herself, in spite of the painful re- 
sult of a sprained ankle, for had she not, she 
never would have had such an adventure as that 
of being carried home by “those fascinating fel- 
lows.” She was fond of using the word “fascinat- 
ing,” and of fitting it to her various acquaintances. 
She frequently wished that she might be consid- 
ered so herself, but George had never allowed her 
to believe that it could ever be the case. She was 
annoyed with George. The day before, when she 
had described the accident to her father, she had 
told how the party of girls and boys had passed 
beneath her and she had looked down upon their 
heads. 

“But how did you happen to be looking down 
on them?” Mr. Waring had asked. “Where were 
you ?” 

“Up in a tree, father!” 

158 


CLARA CONFESSES 


‘‘And why were you climbing trees up on the 
Palisades on Sunday afternoon?” 

“Yes ! Why?” George had put in with marked 
emphasis. 

“Oh, for fun!” she had said hastily. 

“Well, I think you might have been much bet- 
ter employed,” her father remarked. “Please 
don’t do it again.” 

And then George had giggled in a most irritat- 
ing manner. 

Mildred, on thinking the matter over, decided 
to let it pass for the present. There would be 
plenty of opportunities for “getting even” with 
George. In the meantime she would enjoy her 
unexpected vacation. She would have a fine time 
at home, and no doubt that interesting Alice Cor- 
nish, living right next door, would be willing 
sometimes to come in and see her. They would 
quickly become intimate friends, and she would 
thus have a chance to find out what blind girls were 
really like. Queer, perhaps, but none the less in- 
teresting because of that queerness — probably all 
the more so. Mildred sighed contentedly and lay 
back smiling among her pillows, little suspecting 
what she should miss by not being at school that 
day. 

Juliet had gone to New York in an early train 
with her mother and Jim. The Prices had in- 
159 


THE WARING GIRLS 


vited her and Phil to motor to town with them, 
and Philip had accepted promptly and joyfully, 
but Juliet, knowing that her mother was going by 
train, had decided to go with her, for there were 
family affairs to be talked over. Mrs. Waring 
was obliged to be away from them so much that 
a trip to the city together was looked upon as a 
treat. 

That morning they discussed the matter of tak- 
ing the little house opposite their own and moving 
the wool business to Clyde Corners, which Mr. 
Waring had suggested to his wife the day before. 

“Cyntra is anxious for me to do it, and wants 
to help with a tea room,” said Mrs. Waring. 
“She is quite full of it, and somehow her enthu- 
siasm has fired me, but of course it is a great 
undertaking to move — and it seems as if we had 
not yet recovered from our other move! And 
then I am accustomed to the little shop in town 
where I have been so long. It may not be so suc- 
cessful at Clyde Corners, and then — somehow — 
with you girls just growing up, and beginning here 
in a new place, I rather hate to hamper you with 
a shop, and a mother in business! Of course 
everyone knows that I keep a shop, and I am not 
in the least ashamed of it, and never try to hide 
it, but to have it planted right there opposite to 
where we live, and with Cyntra taking part in the 
i6o 


CLARA CONFESSES 


work, it seems different, and I must think it over 
very carefully. How do you feel about it, Juliet? 
Please tell me exactly. I know it used to be a trial 
to you, but how is it now? Cyntra tells me you 
don’t mind it as you did once, but I want you to 
tell me yourself exactly how you feel.” 

Juliet did not reply immediately. She looked 
out of the window at the lovely spring landscape. 
The meadows with the river winding through 
them, widened by the spring rains to a broad and 
imposing stream, lay bathed in the morning sun. 
She was glad they had come to live near a river. 
She was conscious of a certain peace in looking 
at it, and in some mysterious way the extended 
view seemed to give breadth and depth to her 
thoughts. She did not know it, but they were 
growing just as surely as she herself had grown 
physically. She felt how absurd it would be for 
her to be so petty as to dread the possible effect 
of the shop and the tea room upon the people 
among whom they had come to make their home. 
If they were so small and so snobbish as to think 
less of her mother for pursuing an honest busi- 
ness — why, she for one, did not wish to know 
them, but she did not think it would be the case. 

She turned to her mother with the bright smile 
which when it came lighted up Juliet’s rather se- 
rious face like a sunbeam. Her mother, who had 
i6i 


THE WARING GIRLS 


waited somewhat anxiously during the long silence, 
was relieved to see it. Juliet’s smile, which came 
rarely, always meant something. 

“I think it would be fine to do it, mother! 
Cyntra spoke about it the other day, and father 
seems very much in favor of it. It would be 
simply great to have you at home instead of in 
New York every day. I don’t mind the shop a 
bit now, mother dearest, truly I don’t! You for- 
get I am ever so much older than I was when 
I minded. It would be funny if I thought about 
things just as I did when I was only twelve! I 
can help, too, when it’s vacation. You know I did 
sometimes at East Codbury. As for people out 
here objecting — why should they? And why 
should we mind their minding? We have lots of 
friends who think it’s all right, and who like you 
all the better for doing it, so if there are people 
at Clyde Corners so small as to object, we don’t 
care to know them and shall be glad if they don’t 
have anything to do with us — except to come and 
buy our yarn and drink our tea! We’d a little 
rather they did that. Let them toss their heads 
if they want to, and sniff the air, and not bow to 
us in the street, but if they come and spend their 
money we shall be satisfied. That is the way I 
feel, mother dear, so you needn’t worry about 


CLARA CONFESSES 


“You are a dear child, Juliet!” Mrs. Waring 
looked at her with such love in her beautiful eyes 
that Juliet wished that she were where she could 
have thrown her arms around her. “My daugh- 
ters are such a comfort to me — and so is my little 
son !” she added laughing. 

Juliet laughed too. “I knew you wouldn’t leave 
out the apple of your eye ! But Mildred and 
George are certainly a handful when they get to- 
gether I They were up to some mischief yesterday 
when they went off on that expedition, but I 
haven’t been able to find out what it was. Perhaps 
Mil will tell Cyntra this morning. She is sure 
to tell somebody sooner or later. Just look over 
at Jim, mother. He’s not reading, and he looks 
so awfully sad. It’s so unlike old Jim not to be 
jolly. Do you suppose he’s worried about any- 
thing?” 

Mrs. Waring glanced at him, on the other side 
of the aisle and a little in front of them. He was 
sitting next the window and they could see his face 
In profile. Then she turned to Juliet and the 
mother and daughter exchanged a look of com- 
prehension, but said nothing. They would not dis- 
cuss Cyntra until she herself had confided in them, 
but they were sorry for Jim’s evident depression. 
They continued to talk about the shop and the ar- 
rangements for moving, until the train drew into 
163 


THE WARING GIRLS 


the New York station. Then the three bade one 
another good-by, and Juliet walked rapidly down- 
town to school. 

As soon as the opening exercises were over, the 
sliding doors which separated the front room from 
the back were to be drawn together as usual. 
These were busy days, for examinations were in 
progress, and the summer vacation would soon be 
here. Miss Sedgwick had risen to give some di- 
rections, and was standing by her table about to 
speak, when Clara Clifford also rose. Instantly 
every eye was turned toward her and a half-au- 
dible thrill of surprise, of excitement, passed 
through the room. Girls are quick to detect the 
intensity of such a moment, and each one knew 
at once that Clara was going to say something in 
regard to “the valentine fuss,” as it was called, 
and yet for weeks the affair had been practically 
forgotten in the stress and strain which always at- 
tended the spring examinations. 

“Yes, Clara?” said Miss Sedgwick, question- 
ingly. “You wish to speak to me?” 

“Yes, Miss Sedgwick, please!” 

Clara spoke rapidly and it was evident to all 
that she herself was by no means calm, but her 
voice was low and her enunciation perfectly clear. 
She showed her nervousness only by the tenseness 
of the muscles of her hands, which grasped the 
164 


CLARA CONFESSES 


back of a chair, and by the rapid glance of her eyes 
as it darted from face to face. She was a pretty 
girl, tall, slender, and exceedingly graceful in all 
of her movements, and one who possessed an ex- 
traordinary fascination for other girls. None of 
these girls could have explained what it was, but 
most of them would have flown to do her bidding, 
and each one felt immensely flattered when she 
was singled out for especial favor. It was only 
the older girls, like Cyntra, or her cousin Rosa- 
mond, who disliked and distrusted her. To the 
friends of her own age it did not seem possible 
that one so lovely could ever be untrue. 

Miss Sedgwick sat down and waited for her to 
speak. 

“I don’t know what you will think of me. Miss 
Sedgwick, but perhaps you will understand better 
when I have explained. I suppose I ought to have 
done it before, weeks ago, but I haven’t! We 
have had such a lot to do and to think about that 
I have just let it go, but now something has 
brought it up again, and I really think it fairer to 
Juliet if I try to explain it now. Poor dear Juliet 1 
I didn’t dream it was going to affect her so 1 It 
was just meant for a joke, you know, and I thought 
of course she and everybody else would just laugh 
over it. I mean the valentine to Miss Snow.” 

She paused for an instant in her rapid speech 


THE WARING GIRLS 


and Miss Sedgwick, before she had time to con- 
tinue, asked a question. 

“Do you mean, Clara, that you sent the valen- 
tine?” 

“I had something to do with it. Miss Sedg- 
wick. I didn’t actually send it, or I shouldn’t have 
told you before that I hadn’t. Of course I 
wouldn’t actually lie about it. I hope. Miss Sedg- 
wick, that you don’t think I would be so awfully 
mean as to do that!” 

“I think it was painfully near it, Clara I” 

“But just let me explain. Miss Sedgwick I Ju- 
liet showed me the verses one day, going home 
from school, and I thought them awfully clever, 
as everything that Juliet writes is — we all know 
that ! I begged her to send them, but she 
would not, so I said I would take them and 
show them to Isabel. They were so funny 
we nearly died over them. I got someone to type- 
write them, for I wanted to see how they would 
look in print, and then one of my friends, who 
makes awfully clever sketches, was inspired to il- 
lustrate them. The person who did the type- 
writing — it was Mamma’s secretary — knew the 
name and the address and all, but she thought it 
was one of the girls, and she understood that it 
was a valentine and supposed of course that it was 
to go. She is a very good secretary, but she does 
1 66 


CLARA CONFESSES 


sometimes make mistakes. Mamma often has 
trouble that way, and yet she is splendid in other 
ways. Well, somehow or other, the valentine got 
sealed and stamped and taken to the letter box 
without my doing it, and the first thing I knew, 
Miss Snow had received it, and the fuss was on I” 

“And why, may I ask, did you not tell me be- 
fore?” Miss Sedgwick’s voice was cold and her 
face was grave. “You were given every oppor- 
tunity to explain the matter, but you allowed Ju- 
liet to suffer, you saw how the girls turned against 
her, you knew Miss Snow was ill. Do you think 
you did right to keep silent, when a word from 
you would have explained it all?” 

“No, Miss Sedgwick, I did wrong. I feel aw- 
fully about it. I do hope Juliet will forgive me. 
She is my oldest friend, and we’ve always been so 
intimate! I don’t know what got into me. I 
think I was afraid — just plain afraid! You see 
it began as a joke, and then suddenly it was tre- 
mendously serious. I didn’t feel exactly respon- 
sible, because it all came about through so many 
people, and yet I really was responsible, I suppose, 
for I started it — no, not started it, for Juliet her- 
self did that when she wrote the verses. But I 
feel dreadfully now.” 

And to the amazement of everyone she sud- 
denly buried her face in her handkerchief and sat 

167 


THE WARING GIRLS 


down. Clara Clifford was crying I Clara, who 
had never before been seen to shed a tear I It 
made a profound impression — except upon Miss 
Sedgwick. 

And then Juliet rose. “May I speak to Clara, 
Miss Sedgwick?” 

The Principal bowed but said nothing. Juliet 
moved quickly to Clara’s place. They no longer 
sat next to each other. 

“Don’t cry! Please don’t, Clara dear! I can’t 
bear to see you cry. It is all right. You have ex- 
plained, and so it is quite all right. I am so re- 
lieved ! Of course the whole affair was my fault, 
for I ought never to have written the verses. I 
see exactly how it all happened at your house, with 
the secretary making a mistake, and everything. 
Miss Sedgwick, I’m awfully sorry! I want to 
apologize to you and to the whole school for caus- 
ing so much bother and trouble. I couldn’t under- 
stand at first how the verses ever got to Miss 
Snow, but now I see exactly how it was, and I 
really don’t think Clara can be called responsible 
for it, and what she did do was just for fun. Of 
course she didn’t dream the secretary was going 
to make the mistake.” 

Miss Sedgwick did not reply at once. In fact, 
a breathless hush pervaded the two rooms. Most 
of the girls were willing to accept Clara’s expla- 
l68 


CLARA CONFESSES 


nation as she gave it. There were one or two who 
were conscious of a flaw in the story somewhere. 
Why had she not told them before? Why this 
long delay? And what had moved her to do it 
now? Emily Brewster and Dolly Trench ex- 
changed a glance. 

Then Miss Sedgwick spoke. “I appreciate 
what you say, Juliet, and the school and I certainly 
accept your apology — and Clara’s explanation. As 
you have been the chief sufferer, and you are sat- 
isfied, I think we have nothing more to say. And 
now I will ask you all to let the matter drop. 
Please don’t discuss it any more. Let it be a bit 
of ancient history. Please close the doors be- 
tween the rooms. Miss Carter. The recita- 
tions ” 

She was interrupted by Clara. “Wait, Miss 
Sedgwick I Please wait a minute, I want to say — 
Juliet is so fearfully truthful — I — I — just can’t 
bear not to be the same — and she is so splendid 
about this — so generous — I — it makes me 
ashamed — because I have not told you just ex- 
actly right. The secretary didn’t make a mistake. 
I gave her the name and the address, and I made 
her understand that I wanted the valentine to go 
when she posted the other letters. I thought it 
wouldn’t do any harm if I let you all think it was 
a mistake, but I just can’t stand having Juliet be- 
169 


THE WARING GIRLS 


lieve in me when — when — I am really so perfectly 
horrid and deceitful and everything else I Please 
Miss Sedgwick, may I be excused? I’ll — I’ll get 
over it in a minute.” 

Miss Sedgwick nodded, and Clara left the room. 
Juliet, responding to Miss Sedgwick’s glance, 
quickly followed her. Again there was silence. 
Miss Sedgwick stood at her desk, and for a mo- 
ment she said nothing, as she turned over a paper, 
and picking up a pencil, placed it on a tray. Then 
she lifted her head and looked at the girls. 

“That was fine of Clara after all,” she said. 
Her voice was low but they all heard her. “That 
required courage! Miss Carter, close the doors 
now, please. The recitations will go on.” 


CHAPTER XI 


MILDRED AT HOME 

G YNTRA’S room had been arranged with 
extreme neatness. The morning sunshine 
streamed in at the windows; it lay In 
patches on the floor and lighted up the photo- 
graphs and water colors on the walls. Mildred, 
established on the chintz-covered lounge, surveyed 
her surroundings with satisfaction. She was In 
Cyntra’s room, for she was to stay upstairs that 
day, and as her own was small she had been given 
the choice of her mother’s room or that of her 
sister. She had decided upon the latter, after due 
consideration, for she never tired of looking at 
the English photographs and other reminders of 
Cyntra’s early home. 

“I wish you would tell me some more about 
when you were a very little girl in England, Cyn- 
tra,” she said. “You’ve got everything fixed up 
now, and you know you want to get those socks 
done to go over in the next box for the Front. 
Why don’t you knit now and tell me stories, 
Cyntra dear?” 

171 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Oh, you wheedler ! Y ou think because you are 
an invalid everything inside the house and out has 
got to stop, don’t you? There is something in the 
garden that must be attended to this morning. A 
man is coming to work there, and I must be there 
to direct him, or he will make all sorts of mis- 
takes. We want a nice garden, you know.” 

“You mean you want a nice garden!” grumbled 
Mildred. “I’m sure I don’t care a snap whether 
it’s nice or not, but I do want to be amused. I 
think it’s too mean of you. Well, then, If you 
won’t tell me stories you’ve got to find somebody 
to keep me company, for I am very lonely. No 
friends here at all, all the family out, or busy, 
or something — why I think it’s dreadful! Not 
even a dog or a cat to play with. They’ve got a 
splendid big cat next door, named Taffy. I wish 
I had him here to lie on the couch and purr. It 
would be some company.” 

“How would you like to have Alice Cornish 
come in and spend the morning?” asked Cyntra, 
moved to pity by Mildred’s dismal tones. 

“That would be great! And I’m sure you can 
get her, for she doesn’t go to school. Her mother 
teaches her, and of course lessons at home, just 
with your mother, can be done any old time. It 
isn’t as If it were a governess coming at a regular 
hour, either. Oh, do go and telephone right 
172 


MILDRED AT HOME 


away, Cyntra I Unless you can see her out the 
window and can call to hen I do hope she and 
I will be intimate friends, for it must be so con- 
venient to live right next door to anyone you’re 
intimate with.” 

“That’s a good reason I” laughed Cyntra. 
“No, she isn’t out of doors, so far as I can see, 
so I’ll telephone, Mildred.” 

“Yes, and do hurry, for I can hardly wait to 
know.” 

Fortunately for Mildred’s peace of mind the 
answer was favorable. Alice would finish her les- 
sons in about half an hour and would then come 
in. Apparently her work was done with the 
regularity as to time as though she were at 
school. 

The half hour seemed interminable to Mildred, 
but a story-book helped her to endure the delay, 
and at last she heard Alice’s footstep on the gravel 
path which led to the Warings’ front door and 
then the sound of the door-bell. It seemed as if 
Jennie would never get to the door, but in time it 
was opened and she heard Alice’s voice asking 
for her. 

“Come on up, Alice I” she shouted. “I’m up 
in Cyntra’s room, and I’m awfully lame. I can’t 
walk a step. Jennie, bring her up, for she can’t 
come alone I” 


173 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Oh, yes, I can!’’ said Alice. “If you’ll just 
tell me if I turn to the right or the left when I 
get up to the top of the stairs.” 

Her voice seemed to be drawing nearer. 

“You turn to the right and walk along, and 
you don’t go in the door of my room, for I’m in 
Cyntra’s room. It’s here — don’t you see? Oh, 
excuse me ! I keep forgetting. It’s so exciting 
to have a person come to see you who can’t see 
you! Where are you?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know!” Alice’s voice now 
sounded far away. “I think perhaps I’d better 
stand still until somebody comes, for I might come 
to some stairs or something.” 

“Yes, you might, for there are some little steps 
back there that go down to George’s room. Cyn- 
tra! Cyntra!” 

But Cyntra being out in the garden was far be- 
yond the reach of Mildred’s shouts, and this be- 
ing Monday, Jennie had returned at once to her 
wash tubs. Mildred lay there, shrieking first one 
name and then the other. 

“Can’t you tell at all where you are?” she 
called to Alice. 

“No, for I can’t feel anything but a wall. I 
could get down on my hands and knees and creep, 
but I don’t dare walk, and I might get farther 
away if I creep.” 


174 


MILDRED AT HOME 


“Oh, don’t do that, for there are awfully steep 
back stairs out there I Cyntral Jennie!” 

And then she heard the door of her father’s 
study open and her father’s footstep on the stairs. 

“What is going on?” he asked, appearing In 
the doorway. “Mildred, why are you making 
such a commotion?” 

“Oh, I’m awfully sorry, father, and I hope it 
hasn’t cost you a good idea, but I couldn’t help it. 
Alice Cornish is lost, and she’s afraid of falling 
down the back stairs.” 

“Lost? What do you mean? Are they out 
looking for her? And what back stairs?” 

“Ours! She is somewhere in the back part of 
our house. Won’t you please get her, Dad dear- 
est, and bring her safely to me? You know she’s 
blind and can’t see a single thing, and if she stirs, 
unless she creeps, she’ll go right head over heels 
downstairs.” 

Mr. Waring made a gesture of horror and 
vanished from the doorway. In a few minutes he 
returned with Alice. “She wasn’t anywhere near 
the back stairs,” he said, “but she might have 
been.” 

“I’m sorry to have given you so much trouble, 
Mr. Waring,” said Alice. “I’ve never been up- 
stairs in this house before, or I could have found 
the way myself. If you would be so kind as to 

175 


THE WARING GIRLS 


let me go down with you now and find the front 
door, I am sure I should never forget, and then 
I could come up again by myself.” 

‘‘Oh, do, father!” said Mildred, eagerly, “for 
I want her to come in here very often ! I do hope 
we’re going to be intimate friends. It is so in- 
teresting to have a blind caller I I hope it hasn’t 
disturbed your ideas too much, father dear!” 

“Not at all!” said Mr. Waring, cheerfully; “it 
has merely given them a slight shaking up, my 
dear, and probably they needed it! But if you 
can avoid doing so, please don’t try it again this 
morning. Now, Alice, give me your hand.” 

She went down with him, and very soon came 
back alone. This time she entered the room with 
confidence and walked directly toward the sofa. 
“Is there a chair near you?” she asked. 

“Yes, right there — a little farther — there! I 
think you’re the most wonderful person. I never 
knew anyone quite so interesting.” 

“Why, it isn’t half so interesting to be blind as 
it is to write books and verses,” replied Alice. “It 
seems wonderful to me to have a real author come 
to live next door to us ! And to have a sister who 
can write things the way your sister Juliet can. 
Don’t you feel very proud to think you are related 
to two writing people?” 

“Oh, there’s nothing so very wonderful about 
176 


MILDRED AT HOME 


that,” said Mildred, with what seemed to Alice 
the most extraordinary indifference. “Indeed, it 
is very much of a bother sometimes. They hate so 
to have anybody speak to them when they’re at it, 
and I love to say things when they come into my 
head. But I want to hear just what you can do 
and what you can’t do. Goodness gracious I You 
don’t mean to say you can knit?” For Alice had 
produced some work from the bag upon her arm. 

“Of course I I’ve known how to knit ever since 
I was a very little girl. But don’t let’s talk about 
me. That would be very stupid.” 

“Oh, indeed it wouldn’t I But we won’t now if 
you would really rather not. Only, what shall 
we talk about instead? Usually when my friends 
come to see me we do things, but when I’m lame 
and you’re blind there isn’t much to do, is there?” 

“We’re like that oarty in the Bible, aren’t we?” 
laughed Alice. 

“What party?” 

“Where it says you ought to ask the lame and 
the halt and the blind to come when you’re having 
company. Don’t you know?” 

Both girls laughed heartily at this, and imme- 
diately felt that they now knew each other very 
well. 

“You’re fond of climbing trees, aren’t you?” 
Alice observed presently. 

177 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“I suppose I am, rather. You see it’s such fun 
to live in the country. I always longed to go up 
one of the trees in Central Park, hut of course I 
never was allowed to do that. But what makes 
you think I am fond of it?” 

‘‘Because you dropped out of one into our gar- 
den the first time I ever met you, and yesterday 
you dropped out of another and hurt your foot.” 

“It was rather silly of me to climb that one yes- 
terday, but I thought Cyntra and Jim were com- 
ing along and I would be able to hear what they 
were saying. It was rather mean of me, and after 
all I got paid back for it, for they didn’t come, and 
I hurt my foot. Juliet and Phil did, and they 
were not very interesting. Phil was just grum- 
bling because Uncle Nicholas won’t let him be an 
artist, and we all know all about that already. 
Alice, I can see from the expression of your face 
that you are perfectly shocked because I went up 
into the tree to listen to Cyntra and Jimmie, but 
I was very much provoked with Cyntra, and I 
wanted to tease her, and that seemed the best 
way of doing it. I may as well tell you all my 
faults right away, and then you’ll know exactly 
what I’m like. You won’t have any — any — ill — 
illusions — I think that is the right word, isn’t it? 
Do you pronounce it Musions, or i//usions? Well, 
you don’t seem to know, and after all it doesn’t 
178 


MILDRED AT HOME 


make much difference, and I want to tell you my 
faults. Fm very fond of teasing people, and Fm 
very curious. Father says I have an inquiring 
mind, but Cyntra and Juliet say Fm a curiosity 
shop, and they do everything they can to hide 
things from me. That of course makes me all the 
more anxious to find them out. Now what are 
your greatest faults? Fm dying to know. You 
look as if you hadn’t any.” 

“Oh I” exclaimed Alice. “Of course I have! 
Lots and lots of them, only — ” 

“Only what?” 

“It seems so funny to tell them. I — I haven’t 
known you very long.” 

“No, it’s only three days, but I like you so much 
I feel as if I had known you about three years. 
Well, you needn’t tell me your faults yet if you 
don’t want to — and Fm quite sure you haven’t 
any! Let’s play a game, or something. I think 
I’ll learn to knit, for if Fm going to be intimate 
friends with you I’ll never be able to stand seeing 
you knit and not be able to do it myself.” 

“Don’t you know how?” asked Alice in sur- 
prise. 

“No, and yet my mother keeps a wool shop and 
shows people how to make things. Isn’t that 
funny? But she says that is because shoemakers’ 
children always go barefoot. They don’t, of 
179 


THE WARING GIRLS 


course, but that makes a good saying. But I will 
get her or Cyntra to teach me right off.” 

‘‘You ought to belong to the Round Table.” 

“What’s that? It sounds awfully interesting.” 

“It is. I belong, and I think I can get you in. 
It’s a girls’ club, here in Clyde Corners, and we 
all knit.” 

“And don’t you ever do anything else? It 
sounds rather stupid just to knit. I thought you 
meant something more exciting than just that. It 
is all very well to do it when you have a caller, or 
have nothing else to do, like when you’re sick or 
lame or something, but to belong to a club of 
knitting people I” 

“Oh, it isn’t at all stupid I We have very in- 
teresting times. At Thanksgiving and Christmas 
we get up dinners and Christmas trees.” 

“How perfectly fine! That is very different 
from what I thought. Where do you have them ? 
And can all the members go to the dinners?” 

Alice laughed. “How funny you are! Of 
course I don’t mean that we eat the dinners our- 
selves! We give them away. We just have the 
club so as to do something for somebody else, but 
we have lots of fun doing it.” 

“I’d love to join,” said Mildred. “How many 
girls are in it?” 

“About thirty, I think.” 

i8o 


MILDRED AT HOME 

“Do you mean that there are thirty girls of our 
age in Clyde Corners?” 

“Oh, perhaps not all our age, but there are 
girls in the Round Table all the way up to eighteen 
and nineteen. That is what makes it so interest- 
ing.” 

“Then Cyntra and Juliet might belong too, I 
suppose.” 

“I suppose they might.” 

“Hml” said Mildred. “Then it wouldn’t be 
quite such fun. Of course I simply adore Cyntra 
and Juliet, but when I go to places with them they 
always seem to think they can order me around 
quite a little. That is the trouble when you have 
older sisters. They put on quite a lot of airs, and 
it is very tiresome. Of course they are awfully 
nice girls, Cyntra and Juliet, and as I say, I simply 
adore them, and you mustn’t think I don’t, just 
because I don’t like them to order me around. 
They are perfect, except for that.” 

“Poor Mildred!” said a new voice, which made 
Alice raise her head with a startled gesture. Cyn- 
tra had come up the stairs, and before she entered 
the room had heard Mildred’s remarks. “She 
does have a hard time, Alice 1 It was bad enough 
when she had only Juliet, and then I must needs 
come all the way from England to add to her 
troubles 1” 

i8i 


THE WARING GIRLS 


Both Cyntra and Mildred laughed so heartily 
that Alice felt relieved. As she could not see their 
faces she had feared for a moment that Mildred 
was really unhappy with her sisters, but she knew 
now that they were joking. She was too shy to 
say anything in the presence of a girl who was so 
much older, and English at that, but she smiled, 
and continued to knit, her fingers moving among 
the four needles with astonishing skill. 

“They have a girls’ club here, Cyntra,” said 
Mildred; “they don’t amuse themselves. They 
just knit and give dinners.” 

“Give dinners ! That sounds as if they amused 
themselves a little.” 

“That is just what I thought!” Mildred was 
laughing again. “I thought I could fool you and 
I did very easily! They give them away, and 
Christmas trees, and all sorts of things. Alice 
thinks she can get me in.” 

“And how about Juliet and me?” 

“Oh, you heard the whole of our conversation ! 
Now I don’t feel so badly about yesterday.” 

“What happened yesterday? Do you mean 
your accident?” Cyntra looked at her with at- 
tention. 

“Oh, no, not that — ^but never mind — nothing!” 

“It was something. I know very well you had 
some reason for climbing that tree on the Pali- 
182 


MILDRED AT HOME 


sades/’ Then Cyntra abruptly changed the sub- 
ject. She felt sure that sooner or later Mildred 
would acknowledge that she had done wrong if it 
was the case, but not if they tried to discover for 
themselves what it was, so she talked of something 
else until she left the two together again and went 
back to the garden. 

“Is your sister pretty?” asked Alice. “I mean, 
do you think she is? My brother Bobby says you 
are all corkers, especially the oldest, but 
Bobby says that about lots of girls, so I would 
like to know from someone else. What is she 
like?” 

“Cyntra ? Oh, she has brown hair, and she al- 
ways has lovely pink cheeks, and — ^yes, she is 
pretty, but I don’t see how I can describe her. 
When she first came home I was quite wild about 
her, and so were all the girls, but I have gotten 
used to her now. You see she is regularly in the 
family now. At first she didn’t seem so much so, 
and so we used to think more whether she was 
pretty or not.” 

“I wish I understood better what pretty and 
beautiful mean!” said Alice. 

“Why, what do you mean? You must know — 
oh, excuse me! How I do keep forgetting that 
you can’t see I You act so exactly as if you could. 
But what do you mean?” 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Well, everyone’s face is made the same way, 
isn’t it? Everyone has a nose, and a mouth, and 
eyes, haven’t they?” 

“Of course I How funny it would be if they 
hadn’t!” 

“Yes, that is just it. Everyone has them, and 
yet some people are pretty and some are not. I 
have asked mother, and I’ve asked Uncle Frank, 
and they have tried to explain, but I can’t get it 
into my head. Of course I believe it is so, because 
you all say so, but it is very hard to understand. 
They say that shape and expression have a great 
deal to do with it, and color. You just said your 
sister’s hair was brown and she had lovely pink 
cheeks, as if that made a great difference. I can’t 
understand what color is. Mother says she thinks 
some day I will, and I am sure I hope so, for it 
is so puzzling. Of course I can feel the shape of 
things, but what is an expression?” 

“I don’t believe I can explain it,” said Mildred, 
“but I wish I could, for it must be very disagree- 
able for you not to know these things. I never 
knew before how much blind people have to go 
without really knowing. It is something that 
comes into your face from what you are thinking, 
I suppose, for Cyntra’s face changes when she is 
thinking about England and the war, or when she 
looks at father sometimes, or at mother. I think 
184 


MILDRED AT HOME 


she is just as fond of mother as if she were really 
her daughter, but of course she would be, for 
mother is so perfect. And Juliet’s face changes 
when she is talking, or when she is quiet and 
thinking of something she is going to put into a 
story. Of course I don’t know about my own 
face, but yours does.” 

“Then I should think it would make a great deal 
of difference what kind of thoughts people were 
thinking.” 

“I suppose it does, but I never bother much 
about those things. It is so much more fun to run 
and climb and jump.” 

“I suppose it is,” said Alice, and quietly changed 
the subject. In a little while she went home. 

When Juliet reached home that afternoon at 
half past three she found her two sisters together, 
still in Cyntra’s room. Cyntra had furnished the 
needles and yarn and Mildred was slowly and la- 
boriously learning to knit. 

“It is awfully dull not to be making something 
really worth while,” she said. “Just poking this 
needle in and pulling it out is so stupid.” 

“Perhaps you know the stitch well enough now 
to begin a muffler. I will set it up for you, and 
then you must be very careful to ” 

“Girls! Girls!” cried Juliet, running upstairs 
and into the room as fast as she could come. She 

185 


THE WARING GIRLS 


was breathing hard, as if she had run all the way 
from the station. Mildred dropped her needles 
and several stitches at the same time, and Cyntra’s 
ball rolled far across the room. 

**Ju, what is it? What has happened to you?” 
they exclaimed. 

“Something perfectly wonderful!” gasped Ju- 
liet, dropping into a chair. “Clara got up in 
school today and told everything!^’ 

“Not about the valentine?” 

“Yes, and everybody thinks she was perfectly 
fine, and she is awfully sorry, and now we’re 
friends again and — oh. I’m so thankful! It is 
such a relief not to have them suspecting me, and 
I’m so grateful to Clara. You can never say 
now, Cyntra, that she didn’t do the right thing, or 
that she isn’t a good friend.” 

“But, Juliet, she didn’t do the right thing! How 
can you think she did? She has allowed it to go 
on for so long, ever since last February. It is 
more than three months. Is that being a good 
friend?” 

“But I know she is a good friend! I have 
heard the whole thing — what she said in school 
before them all, and what she said to me after- 
wards when we were alone together. She says she 
knows that she ought to have told me right away, 
but she couldn’t make up her mind to do it, and 
1 86 


MILDRED AT HOME 


she kept putting it off. And now she has toldl 
And, Cyntra!” 

“Yes?” 

“It seems as if we ought to make allowances. 
She is different from you, and she is different from 
me, and some things are harder for her to do than 
they would be for us, and— and — ” Juliet paused. 
It was almost impossible for her to put her in- 
most feelings into spoken words. She could al- 
ways write them. 

“I know what Juliet is thinking” — put in Mil- 
dred; “it’s Bible.” 

“Well, never mind, Mildred!” said Juliet hur- 
riedly. 

“You’re an old dear, Juliet!” said Cyntra. “I’ll 
not say any more if you don’t want me to. Three 
cheers for Clara Clifford and her confessiorfi 
Slightly delayed, but none the less welcome.” 

“Now Juliet will be wanting her out to stay,” 
observed Mildred. “Clara wants to come out 
her^ very often. I heard her say so when she 
went under my tree yesterday.” 

Juliet turned to her suddenly. “Tell me some- 
thing, Mildred ! I haven’t had a chance to ask you 
before — at least I didn’t like to do it last night for 
you seemed to be so sort of suffering — ^but were 
you where you could hear what Phil said yester- 
day? What tree were you in?” 

187 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Oh, I was up a tree/’ 

“Of course we all know that very well, but which 
tree?” 

“How can I tell which tree?” 

“Did we all walk under you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why didn’t you shout to us?” 

“Didn’t want to.” 

“Did you hear any — any interesting conversa- 
tion besides Clara’s?” 

“Some.” ' 

“Oh, dear, she’s going to be aggravating!” ex- 
claimed Juliet, and gave a heavy sigh. 

“Mildred, dear, why can’t you tell us?” asked 
Cyntra. “Why do you tease Juliet?” 

“Because it’s my nature to be a tease, and Juliet 
had better not judge me any more than she is go- 
ing to judge Clara. It’s just my nature. And 
who’s being curious now?” 

Cyntra and Juliet exchanged a glance of amused 
dismay, to which Mildred was keenly alive. She 
decided to do a little more teasing. “It was really 
to hear Cyntra and Jimmie that I climbed the tree. 
I hoped they would come along and they never did. 
It was mean of you, Cyntra. Phil wasn’t half as 
Interesting. Of course we all know already that 
Uncle Nicholas doesn’t want him to be an artist. 
There’s nothing new about that.” 

1 88 





“Oh, dear, she’s going to be aggravating!” exclaimed 

Mildred. 


/ 



MILDRED AT HOME 


Both sisters heard her with apprehension, but 
for different reasons. 

“Mildred, you must be very careful not to tell 
anyone a word of what Phil was saying I” This 
from Juliet. “He is dreadfully worried about 
your having heard him. It occurred to him after- 
ward that we had found you just about where we 
had been having a most private conversation, and 
he was awfully upset about it.” 

“And I should like to know why you were plan- 
ning to listen to Jimmie and me,” said Cyntra with 
dignity. “It is not at all nice to eavesdrop.” 

“No,” replied Mildred, “I know it isn’t. I’ve 
been thinking about it since. It was horrid of me 
to do it. You see, Cyntra, I was perfectly sure 
Jimmie was going to ask you to be engaged to him, 
and I wanted very much to hear how it was really 
done. I didn’t hear him, because you didn’t come 
along. My, how you are blushing I I suppose he 
didn’t do it, for I’ve noticed that you haven’t got 
a new ring. And as for Phil, there’s no need of 
scolding me for that. Of course, if he really goes 
to ” 

“Mildred, hush!” Juliet rose to her feet. “It 
was very naughty of you not to let us know that 
you were there I” 

“I suppose it was, but now I’ve confessed, and 
right away, too, and so you can’t scold me, for 
189 


THE WARING GIRLS 


you didn’t scold Clara Clifford, and she’s waited 
three months.” 

This was too true to be denied. The two sis- 
ters, both of whom felt deeply annoyed, had noth- 
ing further to say. There was silence in the room 
for a brief space. Then Mildred spoke again. 

‘‘I’m afraid I’m not at all a nice person. I 
know I’m not. I’m curious and I’m a tease, and 
you’re both so good, and I can’t possibly be as 
good as you, no matter how hard I try.” She was 
now crying. “But you both aggravate me v-very 
m-much I Cyntra did the other day when we were 
taking that walk with father, and I just wanted to 
pay her back. That was the reason why I hid in 
the tree. I know it was mean of me, but you both 
make me so mad, sometimes, looking so superior, 
just because you’re older. I — I — th-think the 
youngest has an awful time!” she wailed. 

“You poor little dear!” exclaimed Cyntra, im- 
mediately forgetting her annoyance. “You poor 
little dear!” 

She knelt beside her, and Juliet leaned forward 
in the rocking-chair and gave her a friendly pat. 

“Don’t be a goose. Mil!” she said. “I know I 
was frightened enough yesterday when I saw you 
lying there so still. You needn’t think we’re not 
fond of you, Cyntra and I. We’re just trying to 
bring you up right !” 

190 


MILDRED AT HOME 


‘‘That is all,” agreed Cyntra. “You know I, 
being the eldest, have both you and Juliet on my 
hands.” 

“That is true I” said Mildred, the tears gone 
and her face smiling again; “and of course Juliet 
is a good deal of a handful I” 

And then they all laughed, and peace was again 
restored. But Cyntra and Juliet, speaking of it 
later, agreed that it was hard for Mildred to be 
the youngest, and they would both try to be more 
careful in future. It was true that they were too 
apt to nag. 

“We’re forever telling her that she’s naughty, 
aren’t we?” said Cyntra, with contrition. 

“And setting ourselves up as being so good our- 
selves,” added Juliet. “I suppose I was just as 
trying to you when you first came home as she is 
to us now. Do you remember how perfectly hate- 
ful I was because mother let you have that old 
desk? And then you heaped coals of fire on my 
head by buying one for me, and it is such a 
treasure!” 

“Oh, I was aggravating myself. We all had a 
lot to learn. — and have still!” 


CHAPTER XII' 


THE THUNDER STORM 

T he days were full now, and no one had lei- 
sure to think of the affairs that before had 
been so troublesome. Once peace was re- 
stored between Juliet and Clara, they settled down 
to their school work, which was absorbing them 
now to the exclusion of everything else, and Juliet 
even forgot for the time her conversation with 
Phil, and devoted herself wholly to her examina- 
tion papers. Mildred was kept upstairs but a few 
days, and was soon out again, for she made a 
quick recovery and was directed to use her foot 
constantly, although with some care. At first she 
hobbled about, leaning on a cane and feeling im- 
portant, but presently the stick was cast aside and 
she forgot to limp. Cyntra was busy helping her 
mother to move the shop from New York to Clyde 
Corners, and making ready the tea room^ and the 
fact that Jim Waring did not come out again to 
see them made no impression upon her. She sup- 
posed, when she thought of it at all, that he was 
busy, like everyone else, and would no doubt come 
192 


THE THUNDER STORM 


when he could. She gave all the time that she 
could spare to making surgical supplies for the 
Allied Armies, going twice a week to the rooms 
In one of the town buildings where this work was 
being carried on. She was soon on friendly terms 
with the other girls who were engaged In it, and 
she felt that they had settled In a place which al- 
ready had shown Itself to be cordial and home- 
like. 

June passed quickly away, and July was more 
than half over when one afternoon Cyntra and 
Juliet were alone together In the shop. Mrs. 
Waring and George had gone down on Long 
Island to stay for a few days with Mrs. Waring’s 
sister, Mrs. Rufford, and Mr. Waring had been 
persuaded to join them for one night. He did not 
like to leave the girls alone at home for longer 
than that, but with a telephone in the house and 
with Admiral Kent so near at hand, he supposed 
that after all It was foolish to feel uneasy about 
them, and he had finally consented to go. 

Mildred was spending the day with some 
friends who were to bring her home In time for 
supper, and Cyntra and Juliet therefore had the 
two houses to themselves. Examinations and clos- 
ing exercises at school had long been over, much to 
Juliet’s relief. She had come through creditably 
on the whole, but it was only because she had 

193 


THE WARING GIRLS 


worked hard and faithfully. In English Litera- 
ture she had received honors, but that, she 
thought, was easy enough. She valued more the 
moderate mark she had gained In mathematics, 
for that represented days and nights of labor and 
much anguish of mind, but she felt repaid for It 
all In knowing that she had not failed. Her suc- 
cess was partly owing to the fact that Miss Snow, 
hearing of her anxiety, had sent for her to come 
to her and had actually taken the trouble to ex- 
plain to her some of the points that puzzled her. 
This touched Juliet In a way that she never forgot. 
Now a summer free from study was before her 
and she planned to make the most of It. Of course 
the tea room would require some of her time, 
but that had been systematically arranged, and 
the rest of the day was her own to use as she 
chose. 

As soon as Mrs. Waring had decided to move 
the shop she had carried out the plan Immedi- 
ately, for it was Important to be ready for the 
early summer. Fortunately the little house across 
the way had been repaired recently and was there- 
fore In excellent condition, and fortunately, too. 
It was well adapted to her needs. It did not take 
long to arrange the stock, fit up a tea room, and 
open for business. Miss Macy, who had been her 
assistant for years, was glad to spend the sum- 
194 


THE THUNDER STORM 


mer in the country, and was living at a boarding- 
house in Clyde Corners. She had nothing to do 
with the tea room, which was to be chiefly Cyn- 
tra’s work, and in this Juliet helped during the af- 
ternoon, which was of course the busy time. She 
was on duty from four to six every day but Sat- 
urday, when a young woman came to take her 
place. 

As it was now midsummer, the weather was 
hot. Foliage was thick about the houses on Ly- 
man Street, and although this made them shady, it 
also shut out the air. This Friday afternoon 
toward the close of the month the weather was 
especially close and heavy, as it had been all day. 
Ominous-looking clouds were gathered in the west, 
and there was every indication of an approaching 
thunder shower. 

The shop was daintily fitted up with green rugs 
and pretty muslin curtains. The walls were lined 
with white cupboards in which the yarns were 
kept, and there were one or two glass cases in 
which sweaters and other knitted articles were 
displayed. Quaint old chairs and tables, bits of 
ancient china, and even some small silver articles 
were also for sale, arranged with taste and adding 
to the charm of the salesroom, which was on the 
right of the little passageway which led from the 
door. On the left was the tea room, with small 

1 95 


THE WARING GIRLS 


tables and simple furnishings, and back of this, 
connected with it by a swinging door, was the tiny 
kitchen. There were tables for tea also on the 
porch and under the big tree which shaded the 
front yard, and here Cyntra and Juliet were seated 
this sultry afternoon while they discussed the pos- 
sibility of a storm. 

“I am sure it is coming,” said Cyntra, looking 
anxiously toward the western sky, “and it is going 
to be a big one. We had much better move the 
things inside before it begins to rain, don’t you 
think so?” 

“Oh, not yet !” remonstrated Juliet. “We shall 
have time enough for that when we hear the first 
peal of thunder. Somebody might come and want 
tea in a hurry.” 

“Bertha West wrote that she might come out 
today,” continued Cyntra, “and I am afraid she 
will be caught somewhere by the storm before she 
gets here.” 

“She won’t mind if she is. Bertha doesn’t mind 
a trifle of that sort. I haven’t seen her for ages. 
I hope she will come.” 

Bertha West was a friend of Cyntra’s whom she 
had met for the first time in an English boarding- 
house in Brussels a few years before the opening 
of this story. Cyntra had crossed the ocean with 
Bertha and Mrs. West when she came to New 
196 


THE THUNDER STORM 


York to find her new home with her father. The 
two girls had kept up their friendship and were 
fond of each other, although entirely unlike in 
every way and living in surroundings and circum- 
stances that were also different. 

“I haven’t seen her either for — oh, only once, 
I think, since we moved out here.” 

“There comes a car now. I hear the honk,” 
said Juliet, going to the gate and looking in the 
direction of New York. “It may be somebody 
for tea, though. I am glad we didn’t move the 
tables in. It looks ever so much brighter now, 
and I shouldn’t wonder if the storm were going to 
pass us by.” 

A large touring car drew up at the gate and a 
man in livery jumped down to open the door. 
Shouts of greeting on all sides proved it to be 
Bertha who had arrived, and with her was Juliet’s 
cousin, Nickie Rufford. 

“It is Bertha I” cried Cyntra, hurrying to wel- 
come them. “How nice to see you both! We 
thought you might be distinguished strangers who 
would want tea.” 

“We do want tea 1” exclaimed Bertha. 

“And you are strangers I” said Juliet. 

“But, alas, in no way distinguished,” observed 
Nickie, as he looked about him. “Why, girls, it’s 
really quite nice here.” 


197 


THE WARING GIRLS 


**I should say it was I” said Bertha. ‘‘IVe been 
dying to see it but I have been on such a rush I 
simply couldn’t get here before. We thought we 
would take a spin this afternoon and we didn’t 
know just where to go so we decided to come out 
here, and I am so glad we did.” 

“But you wrote me that you would try to come 
out today I” laughed Cyntra. 

“Oh, did I? So I did. Well, here we — I — 
are — am — She laughed too, but in an embar- 
rassed way that was quite unlike her usual manner 
of perfect self-possession, and Cyntra looked puz- 
zled. However, it was not surprising to see 
Nickie also, for he and Bertha had long been 
friends, and she knew that he went constantly to 
the Wests’ house. He was a good-looking young 
man, tall and slender, somewhat stiff and dignified 
in appearance but really good-natured and kind. 
When Cyntra first met him she had felt afraid of 
him, for he seemed so haughty and indifferent, but 
she knew him well now, and they were the best of 
friends and cousins. His hair and eyes were dark, 
like his brother Philip’s, but he had not Phil’s 
dreamy expression and mobile face. On the con- 
trary, Nickie’s face was cold and severe; he sel- 
dom allowed it to picture his real feeling. 

He looked even more exquisite than usual this 
afternoon, Juliet thought, as she studied him 
198 


THE THUNDER STORM 


closely. His clothes fitted to perfection and his tie 
and his silk socks were of the latest fashionable 
shade. 

But apart from his costume, there was 
something about him which held her attention. 
His face was less composed than usual. Juliet had 
a habit of studying faces. “Something has hap- 
pened to Nickiel” she thought. “His face is 
really alive. I don’t feel as much like shaking 
him as I sometimes do.” 

By this time they were all seated around the 
table under the tree, and the thunder storm was 
for the moment forgotten. When the guests had 
decided that they wished for nothing but iced tea 
and little cakes, it being too hot for anything else, 
Juliet hurried off to get them, and Nickie fol- 
lowed her, saying that he would help her to bring 
out the things. 

“Of course I am not going to let you wait on 
me,” he said calmly, when Juliet remonstrated. 
“Now, Bertha, wait till I come back!” 

Bertha laughed again. “I certainly won’t go 
1 without you!” she said, pretending to misunder- 
stand him, “and besides, I want my tea.” 

I “You know very well I don’t mean that!” he 
called out, as he entered the house. 

I As soon as he was out of sight and hearing of 
|! the others his manner changed, and when he and 
199 


THE WARING GIRLS 


Juliet were in the kitchen and she had begun to 
crack ice and cut lemon, he spoke again. 

“Has Phil been out here lately?” he asked 
abruptly. “Did he come last week?” 

“Yes, he was out for the week-end,” said Juliet, 
pausing for a moment in her work to glance at 
her cousin. “WhaPs up, Nickie?” 

“Something, but it won’t do for me to say much. 
He didn’t mean that I should get on to it, but I 
found out something by chance and, hang it, I 
don’t know just what to do about it! I wish 
Rosamond were at home. Has he said anything 
to you ? I know you have always been pretty good 
pals. Are you still?” 

“Of course !” said Juliet briefly, not replying di- 
rectly to the first question, and setting it aside by 
asking another herself. “What do you think is 
up?” 

“I am afraid he is planning to do something 
rather desperate because the governor won’t let 
him spend all his time fooling around with paint 
brushes# — and quite right it is of father, too. 
Phil’s an idiot.” 

“I don’t think so, Nickie. Phil does good work, 
painting. I think he ought to be allowed to do it.” 

“Much you know about it! Phil has got to 
make a living, just as I have. I’ve gone into busi- 
ness; why on earth shouldn’t he?” 


200 


THE THUNDER STORM 


“Because you are as different as — as — vinegar 
and molasses!” exclaimed Juliet, searching her 
mind in vain for a more appropriate simile. 

“Thank you!” said Nickie. “Which is 
which?” They both laughed, and he took up the 
tray which was now ready. “Don’t say any- 
thing!” he cautioned her, as he bore it above him 
on one outstretched hand in the manner of a 
hotel waiter, and marched through the little pas- 
sage. “Don’t say a word to anyone, but please 
watch out! See that he doesn’t do anything out 
of the way.” 

“As if I could help it!” murmured Juliet, fol- 
lowing him with a plate of cakes in one hand and 
the glass pitcher of tea in the other. “I wish as 
much as you do that Rosamond were here! You 
boys are so queer and unmanageable. You are 
yourself, Nickie, for all you are so grand and 
high-and-mighty ! I believe you have been up to 
something odd yourself !” 

“I have; very odd indeed. Then she’s told! I 
knew she would.” He had reached the table and 
stood still, the tray still held aloft. 

“I haven’t at all, Nickie!” protested Bertha. 
“Why, I didn’t know you were capable of carry- 
ing a tray so well !” 

“I am capable of a good deal that will surprise 
you, sooner or later. Now let’s tell!” 


201 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“I’m in no hurry,” said Bertha, her teeth clos- 
ing on one of the little cakes ; “I may have changed 
my mind.” 

“Indeed you haven’t! I’ll tell if you won’t.” 

“What are you two talking about?” demanded 
Cyntra. “I knew something was wrong with 
Bertha.” 

“Wrong I I like that I” exclaimed Nickie. 

“And I knew something was wrong with 
Nickie,” said Juliet. 

“And I like that!” remarked Bertha. Then she 
laughed. “Oh, tell it, Nickie, and get it over!” 

“I will with pleasure. The amount of it is — cr 
— the long and short of it is — er — the fact is — 
er — oh, hang it, I don’t know how to tell it, not 
having had much experience in such things ” 

“I should hope not!” cried Bertha, interrupting 
him. “Experience indeed ! The idea I The very 
idea! I will tell it!” 

“You having had experience, then, I suppose?” 

“Some ! At any rate I am not so absurd. Girls, 
the truth is — well, I want you to know — at least, 
we want you to know — that is, we thought we had 
better come out and tell you instead of writing — 
that — ” she paused. Then with a mighty effort, 
they exclaimed together: “We’re engaged!” 

“Engaged!” cried Cyntra. “You and Nickie? 
Oh, you dear things!” 


202 


THE THUNDER STORM 


knew something was the matter with 
Nickiel** was Juliet’s comment. 

And at that moment there was a sharp flash of 
lightning, a great crash of thunder, and with a 
burst of rain the storm was upon them. 

Nickie piled upon the tray everything that he 
could lay hands on, and made a dash for the 
house, dignified even in his haste, and the girls 
followed with all that they could carry. In a few 
minutes they were all within doors, only the tables 
and chairs being left outside, and they were of a 
kind which rain could not injure. The furnishings 
of the piazza tables must also be removed, so 
that it was at least ten minutes later when they 
could sit down again to continue their interrupted 
tea and conversation. 

“It really seems wonderful the way things turn 
out,” said Cyntra; “I am so glad, Bertha I I 
think you and Nickie are just the ones for each 
other. And it makes the second engagement that 
has come in the family, just because I left Eng- 
land! Isn’t it strange? For surely, you know, 
Eddie would never have met Rosamond if I hadn’t 
come over, and although you two might have 
met, both living in New York, still it was through 
my coming. How little you thought, Bertha, in 
Mrs. Cole’s pension that — ” she broke off sud- 
denly and laughed. 


203 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“What are you laughing at?” demanded Bertha, 
looking at her sharply. 

“Not much, but I just happened to remember 
that over there you said when I first knew you 
that you fully intended to marry a title !” 

There was a shout of derision from Nickie at 
this. Bertha said nothing for a minute; then, her 
manner changing, and losing its touch of modem 
society assurance, she said earnestly, “I know I 
did. I remember — ^but you see I didn’t know 
Nickie then I” 

In the meantime the storm continued with un- 
abated fury. The lightning played incessantly, 
followed immediately by sharp peals of thunder 
which seemed to split the heavens and shake the 
earth. 

At first the four young people scarcely 
noticed what was going on without, for their own 
affairs were so absorbing, but presently even the 
new engagement was for the time forgotten when 
a crash louder than all that had gone before shook 
the little house as though there had been an earth- 
quake. 

“That must have struck somewhere I” exclaimed 
Juliet. 

“I am sure it did,” said Nickie, going to the 
window. “Your house across the way looks all 
right. Probably it was a tree.” 

204 


THE THUNDER STORM 


“It is a good thing we got here when we did,” 
said Bertha. “I told the men they had better go 
to a garage in the town and wait until it was over, 
so they are all right. I shouldn’t like to have any- 
one out in a storm like this I” She glanced ner- 
vously about as she spoke. “Nickie, do come 
away from the window. I couldn’t bear it if you 
were struck by lightning quite so soon I” 

“You may feel differently about it somewhat 
later,” he replied, but he came and sat down. 

“Let’s have something more to eat,” suggested 
Juliet; “it would divert our minds from the storm. 
What do you think, Cyntra? No one will be here 
this afternoon, so we may as well eat up those 
little — you know what!” 

“Oh, do let us have the little you-know-whats I” 
exclaimed Nickie. “In spite of being deeply, des- 
perately in love. I’m obliged to confess that I am 
also desperately hungry.” 

“And I am too !” said Bertha. 

“I’ll get them,” said Juliet; “and I hear a queer 
noise out there. I must see what it is.” 

In the intervals of thunder she had heard, com- 
ing from the back of the house, audible even above 
the heavy rain, something that sounded like a con- 
tinuous knocking. 

“Noise I” said Nickie. “My dear child, I 
should say there was a noise ! I call it an uproar. 
205 


THE WARING GIRLS 


Now don’t stay too long looking into it, for we 
want the little you-know-whats.” 

She took the tray and vanished beyond the 
swinging door that led to the kitchen. Once out 
there she discovered that someone was really 
knocking on the back door; someone caught in 
the storm, no doubt, who was seeking refuge in 
the little house. In the intervals of knocking the 
handle of the door, which was bolted, was furi- 
ously rattled. 

Juliet slid the bolt and the door burst open. A 
drenched figure darted into the neat little kitchen, 
water dripping from every portion of his clothing. 
It was a young man. He swayed a moment, then 
dropped into a chair. 

“I thought you would never hear me I” he ex- 
claimed. 

“Why, Philip Rufford!” cried Juliet. “Where 
did you come from? And why didn’t you com€ 
around to the front door?” 

“Because you’ve got somebody there,” replied 
her cousin, for it was really Phil. “I don’t want 
to see anybody.” 

“But it’s only Nickie and Bertha Westl” 

“Nickie? Nickie out here? Then I’m done 
fori Juliet, I can’t possibly have Nickie know 
that I’m here. Is there an upstairs to this place?” 

“Yes, of course, but I don’t see how you will 
206 


THE THUNDER STORM 


get there, for the stairs are out in the front pas- 
sage. The others would surely see you. But why 
shouldn’t they, Phil ? Why don’t you want Nickie 
to know that you’re here?” 

“I can’t explain it all now. You’ve simply got 
to take my word for it that I can’t have him know. 
Now, Juliet, remember I You mustn’t go back on 
me. I’ll not soon forget it if you give me away. 
Prqmise me you won’t!” 

He had risen to his feet and looked at her al- 
most threateningly. Juliet stared at him in amaze- 
ment. The water rolled in big drops from his 
hair, which lay in drenched masses upon his brow. 
Draggled and mud-stained as he was, he might 
have been a homeless tramp, rather than a brother 
of the faultlessly attired Nickie Rufford, who, 
wholly unconscious of his nearness, was waiting 
for more tea only a few yards away. 

“Hurry up, Juliet!” they heard Nickie shouting 
above the noise of the storm. “If you don’t bring 
those you-know-whats soon I’ll come and get 
them.” 

“Wait, Nickie!” cried Juliet, opening the door 
and calling to him; “I — I — I’m busy. I am going 
to make some fresh tea. Don’t come out here. 
I’ll bring the things when they’re ready.” 

She came back, and hastily lighting the gas 
stove, she set the kettle over it to boil. 

207 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Promise!” said Phil again. 

“Oh, I won’t tell them, but they might very 
easily find it out, Phil, for Nickie or Cyntra may 
come out here at any minute. Why don’t you go 
over to the other house?” 

“And have them see me across the road? If 
that isn’t just like a girl 1 I didn’t go to the other 
house on purpose, for I don’t want anyone to 
know I am here. Can’t you get them over to the 
house?” 

“In this rain? If that isn’t just like a 
boy!” 

He was silent for an instant and Juliet felt that 
she had scored, but he was only considering the 
situation. 

“Are the stairs right in front of the room where 
you eat?” 

“No, they are just back of it.” 

“Well, then, you take in the food and keep them 
busy, and I’ll manage to get upstairs somehow. 
Here’s a closet. I’ll hide in here until you get the 
things in to them — and you had better stay there 
yourself. Don’t bother to look after me. Just 
keep them occupied.” 

He opened the closet door and stood ready to 
enter if anyone should come into the kitchen. Ju- 
liet made ready the tea and carried it, with the 
dainty little biscuits which Cyntra had baked that 
208 


THE THUNDER STORM 


morning, to the front room, where she was re- 
ceived with exclamations of impatience. 

“Where have you been all this time? Making 
hot tea? Well, we can stand it hot now. The 
weather is changing. And who is out there? We 
thought we heard you talking to somebody.” 

“Talking?” she repeated vaguely. “Talking?” 

She was at a loss to know how to deceive them. 
She was so uncompromisingly truthful at all times 
that the task was difficult for her, but she could not 
have chosen a better way. Knowing her as they 
did, it never occurred to them that Juliet, of all 
persons, was trying to cover something, and the 
sight of the biscuits diverted them from their first 
supposition. In a moment they were all engaged 
in devouring with deep appreciation “the little 
you-know-whats.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


**IT WAS THE cat” 

J ULIET, while they ate, listened intently for 
sounds from the kitchen or hall which might 
arouse their suspicions. Her ears being 
strained to hear the slightest noise in the house, 
she did not remember that what would be audible 
to her would probably pass unnoticed by the 
others, for the rain beating heavily on window 
and piazza and roof was enough to drown all else. 
The news concerning Nickie and Bertha absorbed 
their minds, and therefore none but Juliet heard 
the creaking of the stairs when Philip went over 
them, nor the sound of footsteps in the room 
above. 

“Why didn’t he go into the other room!” 
thought Juliet, in alarm ; “how perfectly stupid of 
him to go right over us! How can I ever keep 
them from finding out?” 

But presently all was quiet up there, and with 
a sense of danger passed she was able once more 
to take part in the conversation, which was carried 
on without pause until there was nothing left to 


210 


“IT WAS THE CAP’ 


eat or drink, and Nickie announced that he was 
going out to look for more. Before Juliet could 
frame an excuse for stopping him, he had vanished 
through the swinging door. 

In a moment he put his head into the room. 
“Girls, your kitchen is a sight!” he announced. 
“You had better come clean up!” 

Cyntra was the first to reach there, followed 
closely by Bertha. Juliet, realizing only too well 
what it was like, stood still for a moment. Then, 
scarcely knowing what she did, she picked up a 
tray and began to clear the table where they had 
been sitting. 

Cyntra looked through the door. “Juliet, what 
happened? The whole kitchen is afloat, and 
muddy, too! There are muddy foot-prints< — 
come and see ! Someone must have come in while 
we were having tea. Nickie thinks we ought to 
search the house.” 

“Oh, how absurd of Nickie!” exclaimed Juliet. 
She carried the loaded tray to the kitchen with an 
appearance of indifference which surprised her- 
self, for she felt anything but calm. “How per- 
fectly absurd you all are I I — I opened the back 
door and I suppose it rained in.” 

“But the footprints? How can you account for 
the footprints?” 

“Well, haven’t I been walking around getting 


2II 


THE WARING GIRLS 


your tea?’’ she stammered, and seized a mop. In 
an instant the tell-tale marks were gone. 

“Those were never your feet,” said Nickie ; “I 
bet my last year’s hat — or shoes would be more 
appropriate — there has been or is somebody in 
this house, and I wouldn’t blame them either for 
coming in out of this storm.” 

“But, Nickie, I’ve been in the kitchen myself 
most of the time you have been here,” said Juliet 
earnestly; “you were out here with me yourself 
when I got the first tea, and I tell you that I 
opened the door when I was out here the second 
time. Don’t you remember I thought I heard 
something and came out? I — I opened the door 
— and — and perhaps the rain blew in.” 

“Hm I” said Nickie. He said no more, but he 
looked at her sharply. He looked also at the 
kitchen window. He had been on the point of 
offering to search the upstairs rooms, but he de- 
cided not to interfere. “After all, it is none of 
my business,” he said to himself. “Juliet knows 
who it is and for some reason doesn’t want to 
tell. It would be rather mean to force it out of 
hen” 

They all set to work to clean the kitchen, Bertha 
helping too, in spite of her dainty costume, and 
soon the floor was wiped up, the tea things were 
washed and put away, and the cottage had re- 
212 


IT WAS THE CAT’' 


gained its usual appearance of neatness. The 
storm had now passed. It was no longer raining, 
and in a few minutes the sun was shining, every 
leaf and twig on trees and bushes glistening in its 
slant rays. Cyntra proposed going over to the 
other house, and they promptly agreed — all but 
Juliet. When they went out of the front door, 
she lingered behind. 

“I — I think I had better do a little more clean- 
ing up,” she said. 

“Don’t stay too long,” Cyntra called back, as 
she ran across the muddy road; “it looks very 
nice there, Ju. You needn’t do any more.” 

Nickie turned and came back. He stood at the 
foot of the piazza step and looked up at her 
keenly, although he laughed. “It was rather odd, 
don’t you think, that the rain blew in at the kitchen 
door with such force, when the wind was the other 
way? It blew against the front of the house, my 
dear child I And if you will do me the favor of 
examining the kitchen window, which to the best 
of my recollection is on the same side as the kit- 
chen door, you will find it is perfectly dry ! Guess 
again, my dear girl, guess again !” he turned away, 
and with a run and two or three leaps, was across 
the road. Then he looked back at Juliet, who 
stood spell-bound on the little porch. He waved 
his hand derisively. “Guess again, my dear!” 
213 


THE WARING GIRLS 


he repeated, and disappeared within the doorway 
of the Warings’ house. 

“He knows!*’ said Juliet aloud. “Fm sure he 
knows!” 

She went to the foot of the stairs and called. 
“Phil, are you there?” 

“Of course Fm here !” he replied. “I thought 
they would never go. Is there anything left to 
eat ?” 

“Only lemons. Fll bring you something when 
I can.” 

“And some clothes, Ju! Can’t you bring me 
some dry rags of Uncle George’s?” 

“Fll try, but they will surely see me if I come 
before dark. I will get the things over somehow, 
though. But Phil, I think Nickie suspects some- 
thing!” 

“Oh, shucks ! Why, he couldn’t possibly ! He 
left me this morning down at Oyster Bay. I was 
an idiot to come here, but I had a lot of time on 
my hands, and as I was over on the Jersey side 
anyhow, I thought I’d take a walk. I — I may not 
see the old Palisades again for some time, and 
Fm rather fond of them. I didn’t intend to come 
down here, but the storm came on before I knew 
it, and as I was only a couple of miles from here 
I thought I’d run down and get dry, and some food 
if I could, — and — and — see you, you know ! 
214 


“IT WAS THE CAT’ 


Hurry up, Ju, for Fm just about starved, and I’m 
sick of these wet things.” 

She went home, wondering how she should 
manage to oblige him. Of course it was important 
that he should have dry clothes and food im- 
mediately, for Philip was not a sturdy boy. In- 
deed, his delicate physical organization had al- 
ready given his family anxiety, and for that reason 
he had been taken out of school two or three 
years ago and sent abroad with his aunt. What 
could he have meant when he said that he might 
not see the Palisades again for some time? The 
words gave Juliet a feeling of vague alarm. Was 
he planning to carry out the threat of leaving 
home which he had so often made? Was that 
why he did not wish his presence to be made known 
to his brother? She could not stop now, however, 
to think about it, for she knew that for him to be 
drenched to the skin and then remain in his wet 
1 clothes was one of the worst things that could 
i happen to him, especially after the extreme heat 
i of the day. The weather was changing, too, 

; after the storm. Probably a cool wave was com- 
1 ing, and the night might be almost cold. Alarmed 
I by the thought of what this would mean for her 
j cousin, she hurried to the hall closet and selected 
from the baskets and bags which were kept there 
a good-sized market basket. That seemed better 

i 215 


THE WARING GIRLS 


than a bag for diverting possible comment. She 
ran up to her father’s room and hastily tossed 
some clothing and a pair of shoes into it; then 
she carried it down the back stairs to the 
kitchen. 

Here fortune favored her. The maid had gone 
to the cellar to get something, leaving on the table 
several dishes that were ready for supper. There 
were slices of cold ham, a vegetable salad, a pan 
of hot gingerbread, and some biscuits, just out 
of the oven, and all arranged with care, for the 
visitors were to remain for supper and Jennie, who 
had lived for years with Mrs. Waring, took great 
pride in having things as nice as possible. 

Juliet knew that no time was to be lost. She 
seized a tin kettle which she found hanging in 
the closet, and with a big spoon she filled it with 
a plentiful supply of salad, two or three slices 
of ham, and half a dozen biscuits. She hastily 
jammed on the cover, and seeing a pint bottle of 
milk which stood ready to be opened by Jennie 
on her return from the cellar, she took that also 
and buried it with the kettle among the clothes in 
the basket. 

“This will surely keep him alive till morning!” 
she thought, and left the kitchen just as Jennie’s 
rather heavy footstep was heard on the lower step 
of the cellar stairs. Juliet went out by the side 
216 


IT WAS THE CAT’ 


door and ran across the road. In a few minutes 
she and the basket were safely in the cottage. 

“Phil!” she called softly; *Thil, here are the 
things. I’m sorry the food has to be in such a 
mess, but it’s the best I can do. And do change 
your clothes quickly, and don’t go off tomorrow 
before I come over, for I’ve got to see you, 
Phil I Promise me you won’t go before I’ve seen 
you!” 

“It depends upon when you get here,” said 
Philip. He was standing in the upper hall and 
she was on the stairs. “I’ve got to get off rather 
soon. I — er — well, I can’t say exactly when. 
Thanks awfully, Jul And before you go back, 
promise me faithfully that you won’t give me 
away. It is very important that no one should 
know that I’m here or — or anything. Promise I” 

She was afraid to linger to argue the matter 
further, and besides, it was so important for Phil 
to get into the dry clothes. After all, why should 
she not promise? If he wished to keep this esca- 
pade a secret she would not “give him away.” 
Phil had many a time stood by her in their childish 
pranks and “scrapes,” just as she had often stood 
by him. She would certainly do so again. 

“All right, Phil, I promise — ^but I’m sure Nickie 
knows. Now hurry up and change. You’ll get 
an awful cold if you don’t. Why were you out in 
217 


THE WARING GIRLS 


that bad storm? And why don’t you want them 
to know you are here ?” 

“Oh, what a lot of questions a girl always has 
to ask!” came in accents of irritation from above. 
“Well, ril tell you, for you’ve been very decent 
about bringing the food and stuff. I’m going 
away.” 

“Phil!” 

“Sh! Not so loud I You’ll be heard. Now 
listen quietly, and I’ll tell you. I’m going to — 
Juliet, promise me again that you won’t tell any- 
one until they find it out for themselves. It won’t 
be long.” 

“But, Phil ” 

“If you don’t. I’ll never forgive you. You can’t 
stop me now. If you tell. I’ll cut and run this 
minute, wet clothes, no supper and all. Promise I” 

“Oh, it’s wrong, I’m sure !” 

“All right I Take back your food I It’s only 
a matter of a few hours, Juliet. What’s the use 
of trying to stop me? I tell you, you can’t. 
Promise, please, Ju I” 

“I — I promise I” 

“Good old girl I I knew you would. Well, I 
sail tomorrow on the Rochamheau. I’m going to 
France. Ambulance Corps, or Aviation, or For- 
eign Legion, or whatever I can get into.” 

“Phil! And you are going alone?” 

218 


IT WAS THE CAT 


“No, Jimmie Waring is going too.” 

“Jimmie? And he hasn’t told us! I am sure 
Cyntra doesn’t know anything about it.” 

“No, it is all a dead secret, except from his 
father and mother. They have given their con- 
sent. They are different from — from some fa- 
thers I But Jim doesn’t want it to get out till he’s 
off, for some reason. Jim’s got something on his 
mind. I’m not sure what, but I strongly suspect 
that Cyntra is at the bottom of it. Fellows are 
such idiots where girls are concerned. There, 
now you know it all I At least, almost all. There 
is a bit more which I want to tell somebody. I’ve 
tried to keep still about it, but somehow I can’t 
on account of mother. She’s going to be all cut 
up over it anyhow, I know that all right I I tried 
to write it to her today, and I did after a fashion 
but I haven’t posted it yet and I sha’n’t until to- 
morrow. You’ve always been such a good pal, 
Juliet” — he hesitated, and for the moment said 
no more. 

Juliet went farther up the stairs and seated her- 
self on the top step. “I’m not going to stir from 
here until you tell me what you mean,” she said, 

1 with quiet determination; “I don’t care if you are 
: in wet clothes — ^you’ve been in them so long now 
' that a few minutes more or less won’t make any 
I difference. What is it?” 

219 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Fm afraid to tell you for fear you will let it 
out too soon, and spoil everything.” 

“How absurd, Phil ! Can’t you trust me, when 
I’ve promised, and you know I always keep my 
promises?” 

“Yes, but this is so stupendous — and yet I’ve 
got to tell you, for it is what really brought me 
here, I believe. I had a sort of a feeling that it 
would be shabby of me to sneak off and not tell 
any of the family anything, and then I’d rather 
like to leave some kind of a message for 
m — mother with you.” His voice trembled, and 
he paused for an instant. Then he went on: “I’m 
so afraid you’ll — well. I’ll tell you how we can 
fix it. You must promise to keep what I’m going 
to tell you a dead secret until tomorrow at two 
o’clock. At 2 P. M. on Saturday you can tell. 
How’s that?” 

Juliet did not reply at once. She hastily re- 
viewed the situation in her mind. She wondered 
if it would be possible to persuade Phil even now 
to go down to see his mother. Then her common 
sense and her knowledge of her cousin’s character 
told her that it would be but a waste of time to 
try to do this, for he had made up his mind and 
nothing that she could say would change him. It 
was evidently something of great importance 
which he was on the verge of telling her — some- 


220 


“IT WAS THE CAT’ 


thing which he would confide to no one else if 
she refused to promise as he wished. On the other 
hand, if she agreed, she would be at liberty to re- 
veal it in the course of a few hours. It was to 
be kept a secret only until two o’clock the next 
day, and she could then tell all she knew. She 
raised her head and looked at her cousin. 

“I promise to keep perfectly secret whatever 
you are going to tell me until two o’clock tomor- 
row. Then I will tell.” 

“Right you are!” said Phil. “I knew I could 
depend on you, old girl! Well, then, we’re going 
on the French line, on the Rochamheau, and we’re 
not going under our own names! We are going 
to work our way across, because I haven’t got 
enough money to pay my passage. The boys — 
that is, Jim and — and — well, Jim wanted to lend 
it to me, but I don’t want to take it for I don’t 
know when I should ever be able to pay it back, 
so Jim is going to work, too, for of course it will 
be more fun to stick together. We are going to 
look after the horses — you know they carry a lot 
of horses on those French liners, and they are 
glad enough to get some of us fellows, for lots 
of the usual men won’t go on account of being 
afraid of the submarines. I thought possibly I 
had better tell one of the family the name I’m 
going under, in case of running across a subma- 
221 


THE WARING GIRLS 


rine myself — only of course we won’t. There isn’t 
much danger of that. I’m Philip Richards and 
Jim is James Warner. You see we have kept the 
first names we are always called by, and we took 
last names beginning with our own letters. We 
thought that was safer. We had a great old time 
choosing them, out of a Directory. Jim has told 
his family and they are not objecting much, but 
of course they don’t want him to, and they think 
it is awful that he is going to take care of the 
horses, but he says he wants to rough it, and so 
do I. It will be great. Now go, Ju, and let me 
have the stuff. I’m starving. And — and — I’ll 
give you the message for mother. That is the 
only ‘out’ about it. I want to go but I didn’t 
know how much of a tug it was going to be about 
her.” He turned hastily and vanished within the 
room. Then he came back to the head of the 
stairs. “Tell mother it will come out all right. 
Tell her I’m going to make good over there, and — 
and — she’s not to worry. I’ll write to father too. 
And thanks awfully, Ju ! I — I can’t say any more. 
You know I never was any good at making 
speeches. Hurry up and go, for I’d no idea I was 
going to be such a baby!” 

He was crying. Juliet determined to make one 
more effort before it was too late. 

“Oh, Phil,” she pleaded, “don’t go I Do give 
222 


“IT WAS THE CAT” 


it up I It isn’t too late now, and tomorrow it will 
be I Uncle Nicholas will give in about the paint- 
ing, I’m sure. In time he will.” 

“He never will, and I can’t wait until I’m of 
age. I’m a fool to be such an ass as to blubber 
like a kid. There’s mixed metaphor for you I” 
He tried to laugh but without much success. “You 
can’t keep me, Juliet. I’m off, so don’t waste your 
time trying.” 

She saw it would be of no use. Without an- 
other word she went down the stairs. She closed 
and locked the front door and crossed the 
road. 

She had been too much excited to think of it be- 
fore, but now as she came back she wondered if 
the others had seen her go, or had noticed her 
absence. However, it would be easy enough to 
frame an excuse. The family were in the habit 
of running to and fro between the two houses, and 
she would simply say that she had carrried over 
some necessary articles, and had locked the front 
door, which they had neglected to do when they 
all left there. 

But apparently no one had noticed her. Bertha 
and Cyntra had gone up to Cyntra’s room to pre- 
pare for supper, and Nickie was conspicuously 
engaged with a magazine which he had picked up. 
He appeared to be absorbed in it, his back to- 
223 


THE WARING GIRLS 


ward the window, and he evidently did not hear 
Juliet when she addressed him. 

, “Eh I What?’’ he said absently. “Did you 
speak to me? I say, this Is a scorcher, this re- 
view! This ought to make the Administration 
sit up and take notice — if anything will!” 

No, NIckie had not seen her. So far, so good! 
and then Jennie appeared In the hall from around 
the corner where the passage made an abrupt turn. 
Her face wore a startled expression, as though 
something strange had taken place. Before Juliet 
could do or say anything, Cyntra and Bertha came 
downstairs, and Jennie appealed to Cyntra, who 
kept house in Mrs. Waring’s absence. 

“Miss Cyntra !” she exclaimed hoarsely. “Miss 
Cyntra!” 

“Yes, Jennie, I’ll be there. Supper will be 
ready in a minute, Bertha. Excuse me for an in- 
stant. What is it, Jennie?” 

“The queerest thing, Miss Cyntra ! Sure and 
it’s ghosts or burglars, I do believe! I’ve been 
afraid in this old house all along. I’ve thought 
there was queer sounds and now I know It. I ain’t 
got no use for old houses.” 

“What do you mean, Jennie?” Cyntra laughed 
as she followed her to the kitchen. 

“Sh! Don’t laugh! They never like to hear 
you laughin’ ! They’ll pay you back, sure !” 

224 


“IT WAS THE CAT’* 


“But what is it?” 

“Look-a-there !” exclaimed Jennie, pointing dra- 
matically to the kitchen table. “Just look-a- 
there I” 

“Yes, I see, but what of it?” 

“What of it, Miss Cyntra? Do you be after 
askin’ what of it? Where’s the supper? Just 
look at those dishes I Where’s my ham ? Where’s 
my biscuits — just out of the oven, and as light 
as snow flakes? Where’s my pan of hot ginger- 
bread? Where’s my salad — with a great heap 
taken out of it and this old kitchen spoon left in 
it, and I’d fixed it as pretty as a picture? I ask 
you, where’s all them things gone to?” 

“Do you mean — just what do you mean, Jen- 
nie?” 

“I mean this. Miss Cyntra, and cross my heart 
and sure as I’m standin’ here, I speak the truth! 
I went down cellar to get the radishes as was all 
fixed and waitin’ in the ice chest, and I left them 
dishes of things on the kitchen table, also all fixed 
and waitin’, and when I come up — and I wasn’t 
gone two minutes, but I had to stop and empty 
the ice pan — when I come up they was like that, 
and what’s more — oh, begorra I begorra I the bot- 
tle of milk — a whole pint as hadn’t been opened 
— that’s gone, too, as sure as I’m a sinner I What- 
ever shall we do. Miss Cyntra ? Let’s move back 
225 


THE WARING GIRLS 


to the city, even if it is an apartment. I don’t 
like country life. In the city I didn’t have to 
empty the ice pan, which I’m always after for- 
gettin’ here. The ice chest just emptied itself as 
nice and neat as anything, and no overflowin’, for 
it just went into the pipes and no pan at all, at all I 
And if I hadn’t been down there so long doin’ it 
the ghost or whoever it was wouldn’t have made 
off with them things. I’d like to have seen him do- 
in’ it with me around with my poker 1” 

“Do you really mean that some food has been 
taken?” exclaimed Cyntra, now thoroughly 
aroused, and staring at the dishes. “It may have 
been a dog, Jennie! I have seen some around. 
Or a cat — the Admiral’s big cat.” 

“A dog! A cat! And does a dog or a cat lift 
a spoon and help itself to salad? I’m not denyin’ 
they’re awful smart, and that there Taffy of the 
Admiral’s is the old-fashionedest cat that ever I 
seen. Indeed there ain’t nothin’ he don’t know, 
but even he couldn’t lift a spoon! He couldn’t 
carry off a whole bottle of milk. Miss Cyntra — 
why, there ain’t a human cat as could, and there 
ain’t a human dog as could neither. You know 
that as well as I do !” 

“I’ll call Juliet,” said Cyntra. 

She found her near the kitchen door. “What’s 
the trouble?” Juliet asked, knowing only too well 
226 


“IT WAS THE CAT” 


as she did so what it was. “Oh, never mind! I 
won’t eat any ham and you needn’t eat any salad. 
We shall get along all right.” 

“But it isn’t that, Juliet!” exclaimed Cyntra, 
amazed at the calm way in which her sister took 
the news of the theft. “Who can have taken those 
things?” 

“Perhaps — perhaps — it was the Admiral’s cat,” 
faltered Juliet. 

And then Nickie joined them. He looked at 
Juliet with a smile of derision. “Oh, what was 
that? It was the cat! I’m sure it was the cat!” 
he sang. “I say, girls, isn’t supper nearly ready? 
We ought to be getting off as soon afterward as 
we can.” 

Juliet felt sure that his mocking smile was 
meant for her, but she turned away without say- 
ing more. Under the circumstances perfect si- 
lence was the wisest course to follow. She soothed 
Jennie and helped to re-arrange the supper, and 
presently they were all seated around the table, 
enjoying what was left. Nickie refrained from 
further teasing, for he knew that Juliet must have 
some good reason for not explaining all these 
strange occurrences, and even if Phil were in some 
scrape, it was not for him to interfere until he 
was officially asked to do so. Mildred came home 
just as they were sitting down and created a di- 

227 


THE WARING GIRLS 


version, and immediately after supper Bertha’s car 
drew up at the door and she and Nickie departed. 
But when Nickie bade Juliet good-night he patted 
her on the shoulder with a brotherly air of conde- 
scension. 

“Don’t trust too much to the cat,” he said, 
“and I advise you to watch out. I shall have to 
look after the kid myself if he goes off the handle. 
You had better let me know what you think he is 
up to, Juliet.” 

So of course Juliet felt sure that Nickie knew 
something, if not all, of the afternoon’s events. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A PAIR OF WET SHOES 

I T was a fine night after the storm had passed, 
and the wind blew freshly from the west. 
There would be no moon until late, but 
the stars were shining and their beauty 
tempted Cyntra to linger in the garden after 
her sisters had gone to bed. Juliet had said 
good-night early for she longed to be alone to 
think over all that Phil had told her. She 
lay awake for some time, tossing to and fro 
and torturing herself with doubts as to the wis- 
dom of her own course. But Mildred was 

soon asleep. At last Cyntra also went upstairs, 
but even then she sat down by the window before 
making ready to go to bed, unmindful of the hour 
while she thought of the sad times in her old 
home across the sea, and wondered, as she con- 
stantly did, if Eddie Escott and her other English 
cousins who were at the Front were suffering — 
even if they were still living. Sometimes it seemed 
to her that she ought to go to England or France 
and do what she could to help, for she was half 
229 


THE WARING GIRLS 


English, and that country had been her birth- 
place and her home for fifteen years, but she knew 
that this course would mean suffering and anxiety 
for her parents, and she must content herself with 
doing all that was possible here to help, and there 
was much that she could do in preparing surgical 
supplies and clothing. 

She had sat there for a long time when she sud- 
denly became conscious of the fact that there was 
a light in the cottage across the way. Then she 
realized that she had seen the light ever since she 
came to the window, but she had been so wholly 
absorbed in her own sad thoughts that she had 
not grasped the significance of a light in the empty 
house. Now she looked at it with attention. It 
was moving about. First it was downstairs — ^then 
it shone from one of the second story windows. 
How extraordinary it was I Was it possible that 
someone had really taken refuge there from the 
storm, as Nickie had suggested? And what had 
she better do about it? 

Her first impulse was to call Juliet, for in- 
stinctively one turned to Juliet for counsel in an 
emergency; then she remembered that Juliet would 
be of no special help, if the intruder should prove 
to be a tramp, and would perhaps be in danger, 
for two girls could not act alone in a case of this 
kind. A man would be necessary — a policeman. 

230 


A PAIR OF WET SHOES— 


Should she telephone for the police? She stood 
at the window in perplexity, watching the light. 
And while she watched it, the light went out! 
Had the person gone to bed in their nice, freshly- 
furnished cottage bedroom? It was to be used 
as a guest-room when they needed more than the 
one in their own house, and they had made it 
dainty and attractive, with this purpose in view. 

Then Cyntra remembered the wet and muddy 
kitchen, and Nickie’s firm belief that someone had 
come in — and Juliet’s equally firm assertion that 
no one could have entered without her knowledge. 
Juliet was always so positive! But what should 
be done now? Something should be done at once. 
It was strange that the one night that her father 
had left them alone something should happen. 
Then she remembered that he had told them to 
call upon Admiral Kent if they should need any 
sort of assistance. Of course — the Admiral ! 
Cyntra ran to her side window and looked across 
at their neighbors’ house. There was a light in 
the library window, so someone was still up. She 
struck a match and looked at the clock. It was 
only a few minutes after ten — she had supposed 
i it was much later. She would go in and speak to 
the Admiral instead of telephoning. She crept 
down the stairs and let herself out at the side 
door without making a sound. Her one thought 
231 


THE WARING GIRLS 


was not to waken the other girls, especially Mil- 
dred, who was an excitable child and easily fright- 
ened. 

In a moment she had reached the Admiral’s 
front door, which she found standing open, and 
as the screen door was not locked she entered with- 
out ringing the bell and turned to the open door 
of the library. The Admiral sat in his big leather 
armchair, by the table. He was reading, and the 
light from the green-shaded lamp shone full upon 
his thick white hair, making it gleam and glisten 
like pure silver. He did not hear her, and as 
he sat with his back turned partly toward the 
door he did not see her. Bobby Cornish sat at 
the other side of the table, also with his back to- 
ward the door. He was occupied with a new type- 
writer which had recently been given to Alice, and 
it engaged his whole attention. He clicked busily, 
absorbed in his task and hearing nothing until 
Cyntra spoke, and her voice came with such sud- 
denness that both uncle and nephew started to 
their feet in amazement. 

“Admiral Kent,” she exclaimed, “I am so sorry 
to trouble you, but father said if anything was 
wrong that you were the one to come to, and I 
am sure something is very strange, and I thought 
it was better to come than to telephone. I saw 
the light here and knew that you were still up.” 

232 


A PAIR OF WET SHOES- 


‘‘Of course I am up ! What Is it, my dear young 
lady? Is anyone ill at your house, or anything 
wrong? You look frightened.” 

“No one Is ill, but I am perfectly sure someone 
has got Into the cottage.” 

Bob came around the table and stood beside 
his uncle. “We’ll go right over,” he exclaimed; 
“I’ll get my revolver. Uncle, where Is yours?” 

“Oh, no I” said Cyntra, hastily, “please 
don’t I” 

“But we can’t go with nothing! The fellow 
is armed, you may be sure 1” 

“Walt a minute. Bob. What makes you think 
someone Is there. Miss Cyntra?” asked the Ad- 
miral. 

“Because I saw a light moving about the house, 
and then It disappeared as If It had been put out, 
up in the second story. And this afternoon we 
were over there during the thunder storm, and 
the kitchen floor got very wet quite mysteriously, 
and my cousin, NIckle Rufford, who was there with 
us, thought somebody must have got In, and we 
ought to search the house.” 

“And did you?” 

“No, for Juliet Insisted that it wasn’t worth 
while. She said that she had been In the kitchen 
nearly all the time, and no one could possibly have 
come in without her knowing it.” As Cyntra said 

233 


THE WARING GIRLS 


this she felt that they had been foolish not to 
make the investigation. It would have done no 
harm — and after all, why had Juliet been so posi- 
tive? 

“We will go right over,” said Admiral Kent, 
“and even though we may take our pistols it does 
not mean that we are going to use them. You 
needn’t be alarmed. We will only use them in 
self-defense, if the man, whoever he is, should 
prove too much of a handful. Bob, get your 
electric lantern. We shall need a light. Now, : 
Miss Cyntra, the key I I suppose the house is 
locked. And I think we had better hurry if we 
want to catch him. It wouldn’t surprise me if 
he were already gone.” 

Cyntra had not thought of the key. Of course 
they would need it. She ran back to her own 
home and felt behind the front door where the “ 
key of the cottage always hung. It was not | 
there. | 

As she stood behind the door fumbling for the | 
missing key. Bob Cornish came up the path while : 
his uncle waited at the gate. “Have you got it?” ' 
he asked in a mysterious whisper as he joined her. 
“Hurry up, or we’ll lose our man.” 

“It isn’t here ! It is the strangest thing, for it i 
is always kept here. We never think of putting 
it anywhere else. It is very strange.” She was j 

234 ' 


A PAIR OF WET SHOES— 


groping now on the floor behind the door. “It 
may have fallen down, but it is so dark I can’t 
tell. Have you got your lantern?” 

He turned on the light, but with no result. 
There was no key behind the door, nor was it to 
be found anywhere else, although they searched on 
the tables in the hall, in Mr. Waring’s study, and 
in the living-room. 

“Who had it last?” asked Bob. 

“We all came over together — no, Juliet was 
the last to leave. Perhaps she forgot to lock the 
door.” 

“That must be it. We had better go over and 
see. You stay here, Cyntra. Uncle Frank doesn’t 
want you to go.” 

“Oh, do let me come!” By this time they had 
reached the gate. “Can’t I go with you. Admiral 
Kent?” 

“I couldn’t possibly allow it, my dear, and be- 
sides, you should be near the telephone. I don’t 
think there will be any trouble, for it is probably 
just a harmless tramp, but if there should be much 
of a scuffle, just telephone for the police. They 
would get here ve:*y soon. You wait on your own 
piazza and be ready. The Police call is 74, and 
say ‘Emergency’ to Central. It scarcely seems 
possible to me that anyone is there. You are quite 
sure you saw the light?” 


23s 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Indeed I am sure, Admiral Kent I How could 
I have imagined such a thing 

“You are sure it wasn’t the reflection of a pass- 
ing automobile?” 

“I don’t think any have passed.” 

“Well, you are probably right — and we are 
losing time. Come on. Bob I” 

The conversation had been held in whispers. 
The two men now crossed the road and Cyntra 
stole quietly back to the steps of the piazza, as 
she had been directed to do, and stood there mo- 
tionless, watching the little house. The Admiral 
and Robert, after trying the front door, came 
down the steps and disappeared around the cor- 
ner of the cottage. So the front door was locked, 
after all! For a few minutes all was still. She 
wondered if they were breaking in the kitchen 
door. And then as she watched she saw light 
flash from the windows on the first floor, and then 
from those on the second, until the whole house 
was illuminated. They were upstairs ! What had 
they found? Nothing, apparently, for all was 
still. There was not the faintest sound of trouble. 

She could scarcely refrain from going over her- 
self in spite of the Admiral’s orders, but she dared 
not disobey him. Was it possible that no one had 
been there, after all? Could she have fallen 
asleep by the window and dreamed that she saw 
236 


A PAIR OF WET SHOES^ 


that light ? And then Bobby Cornish came to the 
window and softly called to her. “Come on over, 
Cyntra I There’s no one here.” 

She needed no second bidding. She flew across 
the road and around the corner of the house to 
the back door. Gas was burning in every room. 
She ran through the kitchen and up the stairs. 
The Admiral was in the little front room that was 
over the tea room. 

“Someone has been here,” he said. “My apolo- 
gies, Miss Cyntra] You were quite right. But 
there is no one here now. Whoever it was, he has 
made off. I want you to look carefully and see 
if he has taken anything. The kitchen door was 
not locked, but the front door is, and the key is 
gone. What are these clothes? Do they belong 
here? They seem to be quite decent, and they 
are perfectly dry. I don’t think they have been 
wet.” 

“That is a suit of father’s I” said Cyntra. “How 
did it ever get over here? His clothes are never 
here. And someone has been lying on the 
bed!” 

“We must search the whole house to see if 
anything has been taken,” said Admiral Kent, “but 
I should think a tramp or a burglar would have 
made off with those clothes. I am inclined to 
think it was merely some harmless but peculiar 

237 


THE WARING GIRLS 


individual who took refuge here In the storm, 
and didn’t wish his presence to be known.” 

“A German spy!” suggested Bob. 

“Whoever it was, we’d better take a look 
around. Do you keep any silver over here? 
Spoons or forks — anything of that kind?” 

“Not real silver. We use plated in the tea 
room. But there are some bits of silver for 
sale.” 

She ran downstairs to look. Nothing was miss- 
ing. Then she went back to the kitchen. She 
gave an exclamation of astonishment, and going 
to the foot of the stairs, she called to the others. 
“Come down, quick! It’s so very odd!” 

They hurried down and found her standing in 
the center of the little kitchen. A large market 
basket was on the table. Beside it was a tin pail 
which had contained food. An empty milk bottle 
was also on the table, and a plate with some bits 
of gingerbread. 

“Look!” she said, with a dramatic gesture. 
“He brought his supper with him!” 

“And left that good basket behind him!” ex- 
claimed the Admiral. “Surely our friend was no 
thief! He left It to pay for his lodging, I sup- 
pose.” 

“Oh !” cried Cyntra. 

“What now?” 


238 


A PAIR OF WET SHOES— 


‘‘I’m sure that is our basket! And — and — ” 
she peered into the pail. 

“What have you found now?” 

“This is certainly our supper — our supper that 
was taken!” 

“What on earth are you talking about, Cyn- 
tra?” demanded Bob, while the Admiral’s face 
expressed his keen interest. 

“Jennie declared that our supper — or a good 
deal of it — had been stolen — ham, salad, biscuits, 
gingerbread, milk. You see there are scraps of 
all those things left on the plates and in the pail, 
and I am sure this is our own basket. Yes, here 
is our name on the tag ! Admiral Kent, what can 
it all mean?” 

“And here is a perfectly good pair of shoes, 
awfully damp and muddy, standing on top of the 
gas stove!” cried Bob. “He was a high-toned 
tramp, for his shoes came from one of the swellest 
places in New York! Here’s the name inside. 
I only wish I could get mine there !” 

“Well, it certainly is a mystery,” said Admiral 
Kent, “especially about the supper, and the bas- 
ket. Perhaps it was a friend of your maid’s. Miss 
Cyntra. Have you had her with you for any 
length of time? Is she perfectly trustworthy?” 

“Jennie? Oh, she has lived with Mamma for 
seven or eight years — ^long before I came home. 

239 


THE WARING GIRLS 


And besides, she was really very much frightened 
when the supper disappeared.” 

“Well, somebody in your house must have 
helped the visitor get his supper, and if it was 
not she it was someone else. The only thing to 
do now is to leave things as they are, I think. If 
you are sure nothing has been taken we will not 
call the police. We may as well let the poor fel- 
low go, for he doesn’t seem to have done any 
actual harm. I don’t understand about those good 
shoes. He must have tried to dry them on the 
gas stove and got tired of waiting. Perhaps he 
heard us when we were talking at the gate and 
ran off barefoot — or stocking-foot I But why 
didn’t he take them with him ? That’s a puzzler I” 
“He had stolen them or somebody gave them 
to him, I suppose, and he found they hurt his feet, 
and so he didn’t bother,” suggested Bob. 

‘That may have been it, but it is certainly all 
very extraordinary. And you are sure no one in 
the house could possibly have helped?” 

“But, Admiral Kent, who could it possibly have 
been? Who would help a tramp and not tell the 
rest of us when we were wondering so about the 
food? I can’t really think it was a friend of 
Jennie’s. Mildred wasn’t at home, and Juliet — 
Juliet did act rather oddly, I must say. I re- 
member now how very strangely she behaved! 
240 


A PAIR OF WET SHOES— 


She was here last, and she must have kept the 
key which we can’t find. It is just possible — 
Juliet is so odd, sometimes — and so — so reserved 
— but a tramp ! I can’t think even Juliet would 
do it without telling us, when we were all in such 
a fuss about the supper!” 

“Well, someone has been here, we know that! 
Never mind about finding out any more tonight. 
We will wait until morning. In the morning, no 
doubt. Miss Juliet will tell us all about it. Don’t 
wake her up to ask her anything tonight, Miss 
Cyntra.” 

“Oh, but I must ! I am so sorry to have caused 
you so much trouble all for nothing, and I think 
Juliet ought to explain.” 

“The trouble is nothing — ^nothing at all — and 
take my advice, Miss Cyntra. Don’t ask your 
sister anything tonight, especially if she is asleep.” 
He could see that Cyntra was annoyed and dis- 
tressed. Indeed she was almost in tears, for she 
was feeling now a sharp reaction from the ex- 
citement of the search. “It is always better to 
wait until morning if we have anything to say. 
We see things more clearly by daylight. I found 
that to be a good rule on board ship, and it works 
just as well on land.” 

“Perhaps you are right,” said Cyntra, smiling 
up at him. “At any rate, I will take your advice.” 
241 


THE WARING GIRLS 


They put out the lights, closed and locked the 
back door, and all went home. Cyntra opened 
softly the door of Juliet’s room before she re- 
turned to her own, and looked at her sister. The 
moon had risen and its rays lay in patches on the 
floor, making everything clear and distinct as 
though It were day. Juliet was evidently asleep, 
her face turned away. She was lying perfectly still. 

“I wouldn’t wake her up for the world,” thought 
Cyntra, as she noiselessly left the room. “Dear 
old Ju, what Is the use of my getting so angry 
with her? Why not give her the benefit of the 
doubt? She may have had nothing to do with It, 
after all, and even If she had, she probably had 
some good reason for being so mysterious and 
not telling us what she was about — or at least 
the reason seemed good to her!” she added with 
a smile. Juliet was so quixotic ! 

The next day was clear and shining. The ex- 
pected cool wave had come In the wake of the 
storm, and a northwest wind had swept away the 
sultriness of yesterday and had a bracing quality 
which swept away also every scrap of annoyance 
which Cyntra had at first felt toward Juliet. As 
she finished dressing she saw her sister cross the 
road, go up the steps of the little house, and fit- 
ting the key In the lock, open the front door, and 
walk in. 


242 


A PAIR OF WET SHOES— 


“So she had it all the time!” said Cyntra to 
herself. “Won’t she be surprised when she finds 
that the bird, whoever it was, has flown, and that 
we know all about it! I’ll have some fun with 
her when she comes back.” 

It was at least fifteen minutes later when Juliet 
returned, and her two sisters were at the break- 
fast table when she came in by the side door. The 
dining-room opened upon the passageway which 
led from this door, and there was a closet near 
where coats, hats, and baskets were kept. Juliet 
went at once to this closet. 

“What are you doing, Ju?” demanded Mil- 
dred. 

“Oh, nothing much,” came in muffled tones from 
the depths of the closet. 

“Yes, you are ! Sounds as if you were fixing up. 
What’s the use before breakfast? What’s that?” 

“Oh, nothing! Mildred, don’t be so curious!” 
Juliet came into the room with a flushed face and 
sat down at the table. She looked up presently 
to find the eyes of both her sisters fastened upon 
her, Cyntra’s full of laughter and Mildred’s of in- 
dignation. 

“Whenever you are trying to hide something 
and I ask you a very polite, civil question about 
it, you call me curious,” said Mildred with dig- 
nity; “I’m only taking an interest.” 

243 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“And I am also taking an interest,” said Cyn- 
tra; “a very great interest. I am especially in- 
terested this morning in birds.” 

“Have you seen a new one, Cyntra?” asked 
Mildred, quickly forgetting her displeasure. 

“I didn’t see it, but I have reason to believe 
that a large one roosted for a time not very far 
from here.” 

“Did you hear it? What kind of a song had 
it?” 

“No, I didn’t hear it, but I am sure it was 
here.” 

“Cyntra! How funny! Where was it?” 

“In the cottage. I saw what somebody had 
been feeding it with. It was a queer bird. It 
had had gingerbread and cold ham for supper, 
and it went away barefoot — at least I suppose it 
did, for it left a pair of wet shoes behind when it 
flew away.” 

“Cyntra, what are you talking about? A bird 
barefoot? And eating gingerbread and ham? 
Juliet, do you know what she means?” Mildred’s 
bright, inquiring eyes turned swiftly from one sis- 
ter to the other as they sat at opposite ends of 
the table. She found Juliet’s face the better worth 
study. It was still crimson, and her dark eyes 
were troubled, but she said nothing. 

“Something’s up with old Ju!” thought Mil- 
244 


A PAIR OF WET SHOES— 


dred, and with breathless interest awaited further 
developments. She knew from past experience 
that she would learn more if she said nothing, 
for her sisters would forget her presence and 
speak out. If she were to ask questions, they 
would unite in trying to suppress her, so she kept 
perfectly still and listened. 

“Juliet, will you please tell me, why all this 
mystery?” demanded Cyntra. “If you were help- 
ing a tramp, why didn’t you tell the rest of us?” 
She thought it more politic to assume at once that 
there had been a tramp, and that Juliet had been 
the one to give him assistance. In that way she 
would discover the truth more quickly. The three 
sisters understood one another well. 

But Juliet, to Cyntra’s great astonishment, was 
silent. She helped herself to more cereal, al- 
though she had as yet scarcely touched what was 
already on her saucer. Then it must be true! 
Cyntra had until now been unable to believe it 
possible, in spite of her suspicions. 

“Aren’t you going to explain?” she asked. 

“I can’t.” 

“Juliet!” 

“No, I can’t.” 

“I think you will have to, for even if you don’t 
to me, the Admiral will wish to know more about 
it.” 


245 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“The Admiral?” Juliet looked up, thoroughly 
startled. 

“Yes; he and Bobby Cornish both know that 
someone was there. I saw lights in the little 
house last night. It was after ten o’clock, and 
I knew it couldn’t be you or Mildred for you 
were both asleep, and that something must be 
wrong, so I went in to ask Admiral Kent what to 
do, for you know father told us to call on him 
if anything was the matter.” 

“And did you find — I mean — what did the 
Admiral — what did you all do?” Juliet’s anxiety 
was plainly visible. 

“They went over and searched the house, but 
the person, whoever it was, had gone. Nothing 
seemed to have been stolen, but it was frightfully 
dangerous, Juliet. How could you leave a strange 
man there ? How did you dare let a strange man 
in r” 

“I didn’t — let a strange man in.” 

“Then was it Jennie who helped him? The 
Admiral is sure it was Jennie, but I thought it 
couldn’t possibly be, and I remembered how 
strangely you had acted.” 

Again Juliet was silent. 

“You evidently know something about it,” said 
Cyntra, with some impatience. Juliet was cer- 
tainly provoking, and her sister found it difficult 
246 


A PAIR OF WET SHOES— 


to continue the examination in a calm and judicial 
manner. “It must have been either you or Jen- 
nie who carried over one of our baskets from the 
hall closet with part of our supper in it. No one 
outside could possibly have done all that without 
some help from inside. No one else was at home 
when it happened but myself, and I know I didn’t 
do it, and certainly it wasn’t Bertha or Nickiel 
Now shall I ask Jennie, or are you going to tell 
me?” 

“It wasn’t Jennie!” exclaimed Juliet, in a muf- 
fled voice; then she rose from the table, pushing 
back her chair with a sudden movement. “It 
wasn’t Jennie, so of course you’ve got to think 
it was I, but I can’t tell you any more. I can’t 
explain, even to the Admiral. I can’t help it even 
if he does know about it, and will think me queer. 
He will have to think me queer. I cannot tell!” 

She left the table and moved toward the door. 

Cyntra turned and looked after her. “You 
needn’t tell me, Juliet, if you don’t want to, but 
I shall have to give an account of it all to father, 
when he gets home, and — and I don’t see how 
you can very well help explaining to him why you 
did such an extraordinary thing.” 

Juliet made no reply, and they heard her go 
upstairs. 


CHAPTER XV 


AND WHAT WAS IN THEM I 
N hour or so later Cyntra came in from the 



garden. It was almost time for the post- 


man to come, and she hoped for letters 
from England, She longed to hear from her cou- 
sins. She found her sisters in the hall by the side 
door. Juliet was engaged in unpacking the basket 
which she had hidden in the closet that morning, 
and Mildred was watching her with close atten- 
tion. Juliet was on her knees, and she had just 
taken out and placed at one side the shoes that had 
been left behind by the mysterious visitor. Now 
she rose to her feet and shook out the suit of 
clothes. 

“Father’s clothes!” said Mildred to Cyntra; 
“and she won’t tell me how they got there. I 
caught her doing this, and I’ve asked her and 
asked her, and she won’t tell me a thing. Don’t 
you know his old suit that he’s worn so much and 
loves so, and Mother said he mustn’t any longer 
’cause it’s so shabby — the one with the little plaid 


that doesn’t really show? This is it. I know it 
248 


AND WHAT WAS IN THEM! 


by the plaid and the button being gone on the 
coat.” 

“Juliet, it is extraordinary!” exclaimed Cyntra. 
“Aren’t you going to explain about father’s 
clothes? Of course that is his suit! I knew it 
the minute I saw it last night.” 

Juliet said nothing. Her face wore its most 
sombre and inscrutable expression. She hung 
the clothes over one arm and turned toward the 
shoes. Before she could touch them, Mildred had 
picked them up. 

“But Cyntha, these are not father’s shoes, are 
they?” said the small sister, wisely. “Father 
hasn’t got any tan shoes that are decent. He said 
so yesterday, and he’d have to get some new ones 
when he could. He said he hadn’t any tan shoes 
at all except full of patches and he would have to 
wear black ones down to Aunt Mildred’s, and I 
saw him blacking his black ones just before he 
went, and these are perfectly good tan shoes. I 
wonder why the tramp left them? They’re not 
quite dry yet. Inside they’re awfully wet — why, 
what’s this?” She drew from one of them a 
folded paper. 

Juliet, who had reached the stairs with the 
clothing, stopped in dismay. What had that child 
discovered now? And why had it not occurred 
to her to examine the inside of the shoes ? When 
249 


THE WARING GIRLS 


she had found that Phil had gone she had hoped 
that she should discover a note somewhere, but 
she had never thought of looking inside the wet 
shoes, and now it had fallen into the hands of her 
two sisters! They stood together, looking at it. 

But it was not a note. The paper was covered 
with drawings. At the top of the large sheet, 
drawn with a few bold strokes, was the picture of 
the back of a young man who was walking off in 
shoes that were evidently much too large for him. 
As though coming from his mouth — one could 
not see the face — were the words, “Good-by! 
Thanks awfully!” Below, were the figures and 
faces of two young men, arm in arm. One was 
taller and much broader than the other. The 
smaller one, with a dramatic gesture, was pointing 
toward a ship upon the sea. At the bottom of 
the page was a motor ambulance, with the larger 
man at the wheel, and the other about to step into 
the car. Both were in uniform. 

“Why, it’s Phil!” cried Mildred; “it’s Phil and 
Jimmie !” 

“Yes,” said Cyntra, “it is Jim! And Phil drew 
these pictures. Juliet, was it — is it possible that 
Phil was the tramp?” She gazed at her sister 
while her mind reviewed hastily the events of the 
afternoon before. 

Juliet said nothing. 


250 


AND WHAT WAS IN THEM! 


‘‘Aren’t you going to explain now^ Juliet?” 

“I can’t.” 

“You are perfectly maddening, Juliet I Of 
course we all know that no one but Phil could have 
made these sketches, and no one but you and he 
could have been two such — such idiots as to make 
such a mystery out of nothing! Why couldn’t 
he have made himself known yesterday when he 
came, instead of acting in that perfectly senseless 
way? It was only Nickie, his own brother, and 
Bertha, who is going to be his sister-in-law. And 
then the way you stole the supper, Juliet! Won’t 
you please explain now why you were both such 
geese ?” 

“I can’t explain, for I promised him I would 
say nothing. Of course I can’t help your having 
found the pictures. I can’t help it if he has left 
anything that would give him away like that. 
There is no use in my trying to pretend that he 
wasn’t here after that, but I can’t tell you any 
more now. He was drenched through, and aw- 
fully hungry, and I took him over some supper 
and father’s clothes. Please let me see the pic- 
tures.” 

Cyntra gave her the paper. “That is certainly 
Jimmie with him, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, it’s Jimmie.” 

“What does it mean? Of course the top one is 
2? I 


THE WARING GIRLS 


easy enough; he is going off in father’s shoes. 
But the other two?” 

Again Juliet was silent. 

“I know I” observed Mildred. ‘Thil is going 
to run away to the war, and probably Jimmie is 
going with him.” 

^‘Mildred!” exclaimed her two sisters together. 

“Yes, I know all about it. I heard Phil telling 
you, Juliet, that day I was up in the tree and hurt 
my foot. You stood right underneath, and he said 
that if Uncle Nicholas wouldn’t let him be an 
artist he would run away and go into the war, 
and I shouldn’t wonder if he were running now.” 

“And if he is, we can’t stop him,” said Juliet. 
Her face and voice were tragic. 

“But Jimmie?” said Cyntra. Her voice was 
low; it was hardly more than a whisper. “Why 
did he make a picture of Jim?” 

“Oh, very likely he is going, too, to drive a j 
car, or an ambulance, or something, the way they ^ 
do,” said Mildred, charmed to find herself, be- | 
cause of her superior knowledge of the situation, | 
of equal importance with her elders in this discus^ t 
sion. “You know how Jimmie adores driving a | 
motor. He uses his father’s whenever he can have f 
it, and he is crazy for one of his own.” ? 

“That must be what it means,” said Cyntra. ^ 
She still spoke in a peculiarly quiet voice. She 
252 



nTi~it MiU|iHII|imm(i I 






i-'-sKmSf 


V ' Ji 











“Why, 



Phil!” cried Mildred, 


“it’s Phil and Jimmie.” 





AND WHAT WAS IN THEM I 


did not know why shie felt as she did. A great 
weight seemed to have come upon her heart. It 
was something like the feeling she had when her 
grandmother died in Brussels, and also when her 
cousin, Eddie Escott, left to go to the war — this 
terrible war — ^but on those two occasions the 
weight had not been so overwhelming as it was 
now. Why did she feel so ? She did not know — 
but was it true that Jim was going? And was he 
going without telling her about it? And when? 
This was Saturday; steamers sailed on Saturday. 
Was it today? She went up to her own room to 
think the matter over. 

Presently it occurred to her that it would be 
only proper to give some sort of explanation to 
Admiral Kent. It was surely due to him, after 
all his trouble of the night before, to tell him 
that it was only Philip Rufford, their own cousin, 
who had been the cause of the excitement. She 
went to Juliet and tried to make her see this, 
but Juliet either could not or would not under- 
stand. 

“I promised Phil I would not tell,” she re- 
peated again and again, ‘‘and I certainly am not 
going to break my promise by going in to tell the 
next-door neighbors.” 

“But If the next-door neighbors came to our 
help in very serious and dangerous circumstances, 

253 


THE WARING GIRLS 


I think it is only decent to explain and apologize 
the next day.” 

“I am not going in there a second time to apolo- 
gize. It was bad enough to go in and see Miss 
Snow that time. And as for it having been so 
dangerous, Cyntra, it wasn’t really so. You only 
thought it was. You ought to have called me last 
night, and I would have kept you from rousing the 
neighbors like that. I wasn’t asleep until very 
late, but I didn’t hear you. I would have told 
you it was nothing.” 

“As if I would have believed you I” replied Cyn- 
tra scornfully. “It is very wrong of you, Juliet, 
to be so stubborn, for that is what it amounts to.” 

“I am not stubborn, I am only keeping a 
promise !” exclaimed Juliet, now angry in her turn. 
“What is the use in making a promise if you are 
going to break it the minute things go wrong and 
make it hard to keep? I can’t prevent your going 
in and telling Admiral Kent what you have found 
out from that paper, which I had nothing to do 
with your finding, but neither can you make me 
tell next door what I solemnly promised Phil I 
wouldn’t tell.” 

“And aren’t you going to tell father and 
mother?” Cyntra’s tone was shocked. “Are you 
going to keep it even from them?” 

“I don’t know what I shall do. I — I haven’t 

254 


AND WHAT WAS IN THEM! 


decided. Fll — I’ll tell them sometime.” She left 
the room, afraid to stay longer. 

Cyntra felt intensely annoyed — indeed, she was 
angry. It seemed more than she could bear to 
have Juliet so obstinate. She was anxious and 
unhappy herself, and she was unable to look at the 
matter from any point of view but her own. She 
longed to know if Juliet could give her some in- 
formation in regard to Jim’s share in the affair, 
but she was too proud to ask, especially as Mil- 
dred had been present during the conversation. 
She could not let Mildred know that she was anx- 
ious about Jim. 

She decided to go next door herself and give the 
best explanation that she could of what must ap- 
pear to Admiral Kent to be very peculiar. She 
did not take the paper with her; for some reason 
which she could not herself understand, she did 
not care to have Jim’s name mentioned — did not 
wish to hear the Admiral say that no doubt the 
two boys were planning to go together. She met 
him at his own gate. 

“Good morning. Miss Cyntra I” he said in his 
cheery way; “I was just coming in to your house 
to ask you how you are this morning, and to hear 
the latest news of our mysterious friend of last 
night. Do you know anything more than we did 
then?” 


255 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Yes, Admiral Kent, I do. I am so mortified I 
It was Phil, our cousin, Philip Ruflord! He was 
there for a time, and it was Juliet who gave him 
the supper, and took some of father’s clothes over 
to him. He made Juliet promise not to tell us 
anything about it. She hasn’t told us now, but 
Mildred found a paper stuck into one of those 
shoes.” 

The Admiral broke into hearty laughter, which 
brought Bob Cornish out of the house, closely fol- 
lowed by Alice. * 

“Well, well, that is a joke I Boys will be boys, 
and girls be girls!” 

“I think you are very good to laugh. Admiral 
Kent! I feel awfully about it.” 

“Oh, don’t mind It, Miss Cyntra I It was just 
a joke. I suppose he explained in his note all 
about it.” 

“Indeed he did not! And it was not a note, it 
was just some of his sketches. Phil is a good deal 
of an artist, and he Is apt to draw instead of writ- 
ing.” 

“I should say he was,” said Bob; “he’s a won- 
der. Won’t I go for him, though, when I see him 
again !” 

Cyntra again felt that strange sensation of 
weight. “See him again!” Was she ever to see 
Jim again? The Admiral saw her expression 
256 


AND WHAT WAS IN THEM! 


change, and he guessed that there was more In the 
adventure and in the sketches than she had chosen 
to reveal, and he would not therefore question her 
further. 

“I must walk on,” he said, “for we are going to 
the train. Come along. Bob I I am glad to know 
it was only your cousin. Miss Cyntra, for I did feel 
a bit anxious ; and I am glad you came and got us 
last night, for Bob and I thought it a great lark, 
didn’t we. Bob?” 

“I think you are very nice to take it so kindly,” 
said Cyntra, with the smile that her neighbors 
thought so charming; “you have every reason to 
be provoked with such tiresome people as you have 
next door to you 1” Then, seeing the postman ap- 
proaching in the distance, she went home and 
waited on the porch for him to come. She could 
scarcely control her impatience, for she thought 
it probable that Jim had written to her of his plans, 
and that she would receive his letter that morning. 
But when the postman came he brought nothing 
for her, not even the letters she had been expect- 
ing from England. 

The morning seemed endless. Cyntra went 
across the road to open the shop and be ready for 
customers, and Miss Macy came as usual. The 
house had been restored to order by Juliet, and 
there was nothing to mark the events of the day 
257 


THE WARING GIRLS 


before. At about twelve o’clock Cyntra saw her 
father coming down the road. George was with 
him, and they were walking quickly and presently 
disappeared within the house. She was in the 
midst of some business with a customer, and could 
not leave at once, but in a few minutes Mildred 
ran across and summoned her home. 

“Father and George have come home,” she 
whispered, “and father wants you right away.” 

Cyntra asked Miss Macy to take her place, 
and followed Mildred immediately. She found 
Mr. Waring in his study, and Juliet was with 
him. 

“I want either you or Juliet to go right down to 
your aunt’s,” said he. ‘‘You can perhaps help her 
a good deal by simply telling her all you know. 
Phil has apparently run away. Nickie tells us that 
he is sure he was here yesterday. We didn’t get 
hold of Nickie until this morning, and he said he 
suspected at the time that it was Phil who was 
here in the thunder storm yesterday afternoon, and 
he was pretty sure, too, that Juliet knew some- 
thing. Now Juliet tells me that she made a prom- 
ise to Phil not to say anything, but I shall insist 
upon her going down this afternoon and giving 
her aunt what help she can. She should not have 
made any such promise. I think she is the one to 
go rather than you. At first I thought of having 
258 


AND WHAT WAS IN THEM! 


you both go, but I hardly think that is necessary, 
especially as your mother is there.’* 

“Does Aunt Mildred know where Phil has 
gone? And has he really started, father?” 

“We don’t know anything. He has not been 
at home for two nights. They thought he was at 
the Cliffords’ — it seems he is quite intimate there 
— ^but when your uncle telephoned there he found 
that the family were all away. The servants said 
he had not been there lately. Your uncle began 
then to get worried, and he telephoned round to 
several places where he thought he might be, but 
he could get no clew. The boys have never been 
in the habit of staying away more than a night 
without saying where they were, and your aunt 
became very much alarmed. Then they finally got 
it out of Nickie — he has been getting engaged to 
Bertha West, you know,^ so of course has been 
oblivious to everything else — but it seems he sus- 
pected Phil was meditating something out of the 
way, and he told them that he was sure the boy 
was here yesterday, and that Juliet knew some- 
thing, but she wouldn’t tell. So I hurried home in 
order to send one or both of you down, and I 
brought George with me, for they are all upset 
down there. And now Juliet keeps saying that she 
promised Phil and she can’t break her word I It 
is all very well to keep a promise, Juliet, but you 
259 


THE WARING GIRLS 


ought to be more careful how you make one in 
the first place. Now I don’t ask you to tell me 
what you know, but I do ask you, and what is 
more, I insist, that you go down to your aunt’s. 
She is in great distress, and when it comes to a 
question of your duty to Phil and your duty to 
her, you must decide for yourself between 
them.” 

“Have you seen the pictures, father?” asked 
Cyntra. 

“No. What pictures?” 

“Phil left them. That is the way Mildred and 
I found out that he had been here.” 

“Where are they? And why didn’t someone 
tell me of them before?” He was restlessly walk- 
ing up and down his study. In a moment Cyntra 
had brought the paper. “Ah, these tell the story! 
Can it be possible that the young scamp is going 
to the war? And the other is Jim Waring!” 

“Yes.” 

“Then he must be going, too! We had better 
get hold of his family and find out what they know. 
I will telephone to New York. In the meantime, 
Juliet, you must get ready to go down to Oyster 
Bay. A train leaves New York at three-twenty, 
and you can go in from here at one-forty-five. 
Tell Jennie to have lunch early. You need have 
no further scruples about your promise. These 
260 


AND WHAT WAS IN THEM ! 


sketches, if they speak the truth, free you com- 
pletely from that.’’ 

Juliet was silent for a moment. Then she said 
slowly, “I am glad you have found out for your- 
selves as much as you have. Cyntra, I hated to be 
so disagreeable.” 

“Oh, never mind, Ju ! I’m glad it’s over. Let’s 
go pack your bag. We haven’t got much time.” 

It was all that either of them said then, but they 
understood each other perfectly. 

They went upstairs, while their father called 
up on the telephone the bank in New York of 
which the other Mr. George Waring, Jim’s father, 
was the President. Nothing could be learned 
there, however, for Mr. Waring was taking his 
vacation, they said. He was off on his yacht ; Mrs. 
Waring was with him, and probably his son was 
also there, but that they could not state definitely. 
They did not know just where Mr. Waring was 
cruising. He had gone for a complete rest, and 
did not wish his address to be given. He tele- 
graphed to his office from time to time, but they 
were under instructions to give no information. 

“He may want some information himself be- 
fore long,” said his namesake, as he left the tele- 
phone. “I haven’t the slightest doubt that Jim 
has gone too.” 

He said it, as he supposed, to Mildred, but it 
261 


THE WARING GIRLS 


was Cyntra who answered him, for she had come 
downstairs and Mildred had gone out of doors. 
Cyntra felt that she must hear at once what had 
been said about Jim. She did not know why it 
was of so much more moment to her than the fact 
that Phil had gone. She did not stop then to look 
into the cause, she only knew that if Jim had really 
gone to France, life would not be the same to her 
until he returned, which she well knew might be 
never. 

“Has he gone, father? Jimmie, I mean.” 

“They don’t say so, but I can’t get anything out 
of them. Juliet must take the sketches down with 
her, and your uncle can then do whatever he thinks 
best. Those Warings have a place not very far 
from Oyster Bay, I think. Perhaps they would 
know something there and be more willing to tell 
it than they are at the bank. What puzzles me is 
why those two boys decided to do it in the way they 
did. Why must they run away? Why not state 
their wishes to their respective families and go 
properly? And how did Phil get the money to 
go? And why did he come all the way out here in 
the storm ?” 

“I think it must have something to do with his 
wanting to be an artist. Uncle Nicholas doesn’t 
like the idea, you know. He insists that Phil shall 
go into business, and Phil hates business.” 

262 


AND WHAT WAS IN THEM! 


Her father was silent for a moment. They were 
In his study, and he stood at the window, with his 
hands In his pockets, looking out Into the depths of 
green. It was the quiet hour of noon, and no one 
was passing. Beyond the green could be seen a 
bit of blue sky, and the sun shone through the 
trees in glimmering patches. There was a fresh 
breeze, for it was like a day In late September. 

Presently he turned and looked at his daugh- 
ter with the whimsical, kindly light in his dark eyes 
that she loved. “Cyntra, my dear, I suppose I 
ought not to, but I feel a great sympathy for Phil I 
I am well aware that my opinion on such matters 
counts for very little with your uncle Nicholas — 
and yet we are the best of friends I I am sure no 
two brothers-In-law were ever better friends. But 
I’ve always been something of a trial to my in- 
laws! Your grandmother Escott — such an estim- 
able and charming lady, and what a ne’er-do-weel 
she always considered me! She never could un- 
derstand your mother — your own dear mother, 
Cyntra — thinking differently. And then over 
here, your uncle Nicholas, so successful, prosper- 
ous, conservative, worthy — and I nothing but a 
scribbling scamp, a mere vagabond of literature ! 
I wish for all your sakes I were different. Your 
mother would roll about In a limousine if I only 
were, instead of keeping a shop !” 

263 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“Mother doesn’t want a limousine, and neither 
do 1 1” Cyntra stood in front of him, her hands 
resting on his shoulders. “We both adore you, 
Daddy, and you know it! You just want a little 
flattery to cheer you up, and I’m not going to 
give it to you. I’ll leave that for mother. She 
spoils you dreadfully, and so I must be careful not 
to ! But oh. Dad dearest, don’t ever be different 
from what you are! To me you are absolutely 
perfect.” 

“Who is spoiling me now?” he said, laughing 
and giving her ear a little tweak. “But you are 
quite safe, my dear ! I have tried all my life to 
be different, and have found it impossible. It 
gives me a fellow-feeling for Phil, and I wish he 
had talked things over with me. The young fel- 
lows needn’t think that all the elders are going to 
be down on what they want to do. I ought to have 
encouraged him to talk to me, but I didn’t realize 
that anything was wrong with the boy. That is 
the worst of us writing fellows — we get too much 
absorbed in imaginary heroes, and forget those 
who are close at hand in real life. And about 
Jimmie! Cyntra, why has he gone?” 

“I don’t know, father.” Her voice was almost 
inaudible as she hid her face on his shoulder. Then 
she raised her head. “That isn’t altogether true,” 
she added; “I can guess why, and — and — I’m f 

264 I 


AND WHAT WAS IN THEM I 


afraid it is all a mistake 1” And saying this, she 
fled from the room. 

“Poor little girl !” her father whispered to him- 
self. 

Cyntra went upstairs, and for a minute or so 
she stood in the upper hall. Juliet, she knew, was 
packing and dressing to go. Mildred was some- 
where out of doors. She went into her own room 
and looked out; she could see her younger sister 
in the garden next door, talking with Alice Cor- 
nish. Then she left the window, hesitated again 
as she stood in the middle of the room, and then, 
walking quickly lest she should change her mind 
if she paused, she went to Juliet’s room. She 
knew that she could trust Juliet. 

“Ju, will you do something for me?” she asked, 
standing beside her in front of the dressing- 
table and looking up into the face of her taller 
sister. 

“Yes, of course! What is it?” 

“Please find out if Jim went.” 

“Yes.” 

“I am afraid if he did, it — it — was my fault.” 

“But — if you mean what I think you do, Cyntra 
— I suppose you couldn’t help it.” 

“I couldn’t help it then, but — oh, I can’t ex- 
plain, Juliet ! It isn’t anything I can talk about to 
anyone but Jimmie. You won’t mind my not ex- 
26^ 


THE WARING GIRLS 


plaining. But I wish I hadn’t said what I did when 
— when he said something to me. I am so afraid 
he will be killed over there — and — I don’t want 
anyone to be killed ! It will be too terrible if any- 
thing happens to Phil. It has been so awfully 
hard to have my English cousins at the Front, and 
now to have Phil go — and — and — Jimmie I 
Please find out as soon as you can, Ju, if Jimmie 
went too.” 

“But I know that he did,” said her sister slowly; 
“I think I can tell you that much — now I Phil 
told me yesterday that Jim was going with him. 
There is no doubt about it.” 

“Oh! He has gone!” Cyntra spoke quietly. 
She turned away. “Then there is nothing to be 
done. It is too late. Oh, if I had only known it 
when Phil was here yesterday I” 

“But even if you had, what could you have 
done?” 

“I don’t know.” 

She left the room. Juliet thought of following 
her, but what could she say to comfort her? She 
knew that Cyntra was unhappy, but she had said 
that she did not wish to speak of it. “If I had not 
had to promise Phil — but even if I hadn’t given 
my word and had told the others yesterday that 
le was here, and he had gone without waiting — oh, 
it wouldn’t have done any good I And we 
266 


AND WHAT WAS IN THEM! 


shouldn’t have known as much as they are going 
to know at two o’clock. I couldn’t help promising, 
but I shall try never to do it again. How dreadful 
it all is 1 Poor Cyntra I If two o’clock would only 
come I” 


CHAPTER XVI 


TWO o’clock 

J ULIET left soon after luncheon, her father 
going with her to New York. He noticed 
that she constantly looked at a little watch 
which had been given to her on her birthday a 
short time ago, and which she wore on her wrist. 
After they were in the train and had fairly started, 
and she turned to him with her most earnest ex- 
pression and asked him to give her the exact time, 
he laughed aloud. 

“That watch has gone to your brain, Juliet! 
You had better be careful, or it will stop from 
sheer fatigue at being stared at!” 

She made no reply, but continued to gaze at it. 
Then she turned and looked into his face. “I think 
it is now two o’clock,” she said. 

“I should judge so. Juliet, what’s the matter 
with you and the time?” 

“At two o’clock I can tell you something, father, 
and it is now one minute after. Phil sailed today 
on the Rochamheau. He and Jim are going to 
work their way over, taking care of horses. They 
268 


TWO O’CLOCK 


are calling themselves by other names. Phil’s 
name is Philip Richards, and Jim’s is James 
Warner. Phil made me promise to keep it secret 
until two o’clock. I couldn’t help promising, for 
if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have told me anything, 
and I thought it better to learn what I could.” 

*‘The young scamp!” exclaimed Mr. Waring. 
‘‘Your uncle has probably spent the whole morning 
going the rounds of the steamships offices, for 
Nickie thought it highly probable that Phil was 
off to the war. I will try to get hold of your uncle 
as soon as we reach New York. I think on the 
whole that you were right, Juliet. I don’t ap- 
prove of promises in general, but in this particular 
case I don’t see how you could have done any- 
thing else.” 

“Oh, I am so glad, father! It has been too 
awful to keep it in all this time. I am so thank- 
ful it is two o’clock at last ! I stayed awake nearly 
all last night, and it has seemed such an endless 
time since Phil told me !” 

Mr. Waring put her on the Long Island train 
and bade her good-by. He had telephoned from 
Clyde Corners that she was coming on that train, 
and had then been told that nothing definite had 
yet been learned about Phil. He in turn had 
described the paper with the sketches which the 
boy had left, and had suggested that they should 
269 


THE WARING GIRLS 


send over to the summer home of the other 
George Waring on Long Island and learn there 
if possible something about Jim. 

“Of course, Juliet,” said Mr. Waring, as he 
bade her good-by, “you will tell your aunt every- 
thing you know. Remember it is a matter of life 
and death to her. You must not let any obscure 
sense of honor to Phil stand in your way now. 
The sketches he left absolve you from your prom- 
ise, as well as the fact that two o’clock has come 
and gone. It is your duty now to speak freely, and 
I trust you to do it. Good-by, my dear, and take 
good care of yourself!” 

He swung himself off the train as it started, and 
then stood on the station platform and waved his 
hat. Juliet smiled and kissed her hand. 

“Dearest father!” she thought; “I’ll do just 
exactly as he says. Some day I must put him into 
a book, or a character founded on him, and also 
one of the Admiral. The trouble is, when I try to 
write about real persons they always seem to 
turn into something else and be just themselves, 
and not at all the persons I took them from. Oh, 
shall I ever write a book ! How wonderful it will 
be if it ever gets printed! I wonder if I shall be 
able to realize that I wrote the words myself with 
my own pen that I am reading on the pages of a 
real book. It must be a most wonderful thing. I 
270 


TWO O’CLOCK 


remember father telling me once how he felt when 
he saw his first published book and opened it.” 

She was so deeply interested in her own thoughts 
that for a little while she actually forgot Phil and 
all the anxiety &bout him, and the distress of her 
uncle and aunt. It was a way she had, and it did 
not in the least mean that she was careless of the 
suffering of others; it meant that she had been 
given the great gift of an avenue of escape from 
the cares and sorrows of the world about her into 
a marvelous life that was all her own. 

When Juliet reached her journey’s end she 
found her mother waiting for her at the station. 

“I am so glad to see you, dear!” said Mrs. 
Waring as she kissed her. “We have had such 
an anxious time! Not a word has come yet from 
Phil, and your aunt feels so badly about it. In- 
deed he should have written, even if he did not 
tell her he was going. I cannot understand it in 
Phil, Juliet. I didn’t dream that he was so sel- 
fish. But I am still hoping that a letter will come 
in tonight’s mail.” They were now in the auto- 
mobile in which Mrs. Waring had come to the 
station, which was at some distance from the Ruf- 
fords’ place. 

“I don’t think it was exactly selfishness, moth- 
er,” said Juliet. “Perhaps he just couldn’t say 
good-by I Phil is very affectionate, and you know 
271 


THE WARING GIRLS 


he is perfectly devoted to his mother. He was 
all used up yesterday, and he had been walking 
miles. I believe it was because he felt so awfully 
about going.” 

“He should not have gone in that way, with- 
out a word. It will be long before I can forgive 
him. But you must tell Aunt Mildred everything 
you know about it, Juliet. She can scarcely wait 
for you to get to her. We didn’t know until you 
told your father that he had gone on the Rocham- 
beau. As soon as your father telephoned the name 
of the steamer we sent word to your uncle in 
New York. He and Nickie were going the rounds 
of the shipping offices. They went to the French 
Line again, but the boys’ names were not on the 
list. Are you quite sure it was the Rocham- 
beauf* 

Juliet told her the whole story as she had heard 
it from Phil. 

“I should think Jim Waring would have been 
ashamed to do such a childish thing as to run 
away in that sly manner,” said Mrs. Waring. 
“It makes me thankful that Cyntra doesn’t care 
for him.” 

Juliet was silent. She could not tell her mother 
that Cyntra did care. Not only was it difficult 
for her, with her reserved nature, to speak of the 
inner feelings of herself or of anyone else, but 
272 


TWO O’CLOCK 


it was Cyntra’s secret; it was not for Juliet to 
tell. Presently they arrived at the house. 

It was a pretty place, near the water’s edge. 
The grounds at the back reached the bay, which 
was an inlet of the Sound. There were piazzas 
on three sides of the cottage, and on the shady 
side there were rugs and chairs and a table ar- 
ranged for tea. No one was sitting there, how- 
ever. As they drew up at the steps, Nickie came 
out of the front door to help them out of the car. 
He looked grave and anxious. 

“Didn’t father come down on the train with 
you, Juliet? He was going to try for it. I won- 
der if he got hold of the other Warings. We 
couldn’t get anything out of them by telephone, 
except that none of the family were at home. That 
was over at their place, and he thought he had 
better go to the bank himself, and try to find 
out if they know anything there about Jim that 
they can be persuaded to ^ell. Mother wants to 
see you right away, Juliet. She is up in her room. 
Poor mother I She seems awfully used up, doesn’t 
she. Aunt Pauline? It’s pretty hard lines for the 
mater to have both Rosamond and Phil over there. 
I want her to have Bertha down, but she says not 
quite yet. Bertha is so lively I thought she would 
cheer us all up a bit.” 

His aunt smiled at him affectionately. “Poor 

273 


THE WARING GIRLS 


Nickiel” she said, laying her hand on his arm. 
“It Is too bad to have this trouble just as you are 
engaged. Your mother would have made It so 
nice for you and Bertha. But wait a little, dear 
boy! She will pull herself together soon, and then 
she will be glad to have Bertha come down, I am 
sure. In the meantime Juliet or I will stay, and 
help all we can, and now Juliet has something to 
tell her about Phil.” 

“I told you yesterday that Phil was up to no 
good, Juliet,” said Nickle, as he followed them 
upstairs. “I knew something was In the wind, 
but I hadn’t the remotest Idea that he was going 
to do it so soon. If I had, I should have hunted 
him out, there at the cottage, and shaken him until 
he came to his senses. The young scoundrel! 
And to think that It was only last night that he 
was there, and I only a few feet from him !” 

Mrs. Rufford was lying on a chintz-covered 
couch placed near the window, that she might get 
the air which blew softly from across the water. 
She held out her hand to Juliet and drew her down 
to kiss her. She was pale, and her face looked 
haggard and thin. It made Juliet’s heart ache to 
see her like this; Aunt Mildred was usually the 
gayest and merriest of the family group. Her 
eyes filled with tears as she bent over her. 

“I want you to tell me everything that you know 
274 


TWO O’CLOCK 


about my boy, Juliet,” said Mrs. Rufford, quietly. 
“Keep nothing from me, please.” 

Juliet told her the whole story. “I oughtn’t to 
have promised Phil that I wouldn’t say anything,” 
she added at its close, “but yesterday there really 
seemed nothing else that I could do. At the very 
first, ’way back in the winter, I didn’t think he 
would really do it. I thought he was just talking. 
And so I said I wouldn’t tell.” 

“If he had only talked more freely with me I” 
sighed his mother. “I knew he was unhappy about 
his art, and I tried to make him see it more as 
his father did, just as I have tried to influence his 
father to see it from the boy’s point of view, but 
neither could put himself in the place of the other, 
and so it has gone on from bad to worse. I blame 
myself very much. Phil is certainly very talented. 
He may be a genius for all we know, and genius 
you cannot coerce. You must yield to it. And 
now it is all over I We have lost him, and I might 
have kept him.” She spoke quietly, and then was 
silent, and the others said nothing. Nickie heard 
the telephone ringing, and he was glad to leave 
the room for he could not endure to see his mother 
so crushed. He found that it was his father who 
had called him up to ask if any news had come, 
and Nickie was able to tell him the important in- 
formation that Juliet had brought. When he 
275 


THE WARING GIRLS 


finally rang off, Nickie did not go back to his 
mother’s room. 

When Mrs. Rufford spoke again it was with 
visible effort. ‘*Do you know, Juliet, if he spoke 
about it to anyone but you?” 

“I think the Cliffords may have known about it, 
Aunt Mildred.” 

“Ah, the Cliffords I Where are they now?” 

“They are in Portland, or they were when Clara 
last wrote. They are taking a motor trip. I 
heard from her a few days ago, and the letter 
was dated Portland, but they were to leave there 
soon, she said, and were going through the White 
Mountains, stopping wherever they felt like 
it.” 

“Then we shouldn’t be able to get them right 
away, but please try, Juliet. Write — where did she 
tell you to write? Oh, do something to find out 
if she knows more than we do ourselves I” 

“I am sure you will hear tonight. Aunt Mil- 
dred — from Phil himself, I mean. Isn’t there an- 
other mail?” 

Mrs. Rufford nodded. She smiled at Juliet, but 
it was a smile that was sadder than tears. With 
an effort to speak in her usual cheerful voice, she 1 
said : | 

“I am glad you said that, Juliet I I am j 

hoping too that there will be something. It 
276 


TWO O^CLOCK 


wouldn’t be like Phil, would it, to go without a 
word to me? You say that he told you he would 
surely write to me?” 

“Yes, he did. Aunt Mildred, and it wouldn’t be 
In the least like him not to do it. I am sure 
something will come sometime. He may have 
left it with somebody to post after — after he 
sailed.” 

“Thank you, dear! You have made me feel 
better. The messages you brought me directly 
from him have helped me wonderfully. He 
hadn’t forgotten me. Now go get into something 
cool, and you must have some tea after your jour- 
ney. No one knows when your uncle will get 
home, so dinner will probably be late. Pauline, 
you must see that Juliet has something to refresh 
her. Iced tea, or lemonade, or something — what- 
ever she likes.” 

They left the room, but in a little while Mrs. 
Rufford sent for Juliet to come back. She came 
at once and knelt down beside her aunt. “Do you 
wish to ask me something. Aunt Mildred?” 

“Yes. There is something about you that is so 
steady and reassuring, Juliet. I think it is because 
you are so intensely and entirely honest. I am per- 
fectly sure that you would never say what you 
didn’t mean, even to comfort me. The morning 
Phil left he didn’t kiss me good-by, Juliet! He 
277 


THE WARING GIRLS 


called up that he must hurry to the train, for it was 
late. He went away, perhaps forever, and didn’t 
kiss me goodbyl” 

Juliet’s face softened, and a lovely light came 
into it. Her dark eyes grew tender. “Why, I 
suppose he just couldn’t, Aunt Mildred!” she 
said. “I am sure I couldn’t. If I were going 
away from mother, and she didn’t know I was 
going, and I didn’t want her to find it out until I 
was gone, I am certain I wouldn’t dare bid her 
good-by, for fear I couldn’t help telling her, or 
breaking down in some way.” 

“I thought possibly that was it, and yet it hurt. 
You know I am very sore, Juliet, and so all the 
little things hurt. It was foolish, I know, to mind 
so small a thing.” 

“I don’t think it was small. I think it was very 
large, and that was the reason he couldn’t do it, 
because it was so tremendous.” 

“Yes, that was it I” 

“And Phil was crying when he gave me the 
message for you. Aunt Mildred. I didn’t tell you 
that before Nickie, for I thought Phil wouldn’t 
want him or anyone else but you to know that he 
cried, but he did. He felt so badly about leaving 
you. Aunt Mildred; he said so, and he said he 
hadn’t realized before how awfully he was going 
to feel. He said — these were his exact words — 
278 


TWO O’CLOCK 


that he didn’t know it was going to be so much of 
a tug.” 

“Ah! Thank you, my dear! Now go, for I 
want to be alone a little while before your uncle 
comes home. You have made me — not happier — 
but less unhappy. You will have to come to me 
often, Juliet. Your mother has two other daugh- 
ters, and can spare you. Now that Rosamond and 
Phil are both gone, and Nickie will want to be 
with Bertha as much as possible — ^poor boy, it is 
hard for him to have all this trouble come just at 
this time — I shall need you very much.” 

“I’ll come. Aunt Mildred, whenever you want 
me. 

Mr. Rufford reached home at about seven 
o’clock, bringing with him from the post office 
the evening mail. There were two letters from 
Phil, one addressed to his father, the other to his 
mother. This was what he wrote to Mr. Ruf- 
ford: 

Dear Father: 

I am afraid it is going to be awfully hard for you to 
forgive me. I am sorry, but I can^t help it. I was going 
to wait until I was twenty-one and then tell you I never 
j could go into business, but that is two years o£F, and I 
; don’t want to study until then, for what I am doing at 
! college wouldn’t help me in painting, and that is what I 
\ must do. Besides, it doesn’t seem fair to you to let you 
go on paying my college expenses when I don’t mean to 

279 


THE WARING GIRLS 


go into business. I have really tried to give up painting, 
but it’s no use. I’ve got to paint. You see you are dif- 
ferent, Dad. I have given up trying tc make you under- 
stand. Perhaps some day you will be able to forgive me. 
I hope so, and I don’t expect you to now. I think the 
best thing I can do is to try to help France a bit. You 
know I liked France when I was there. I like the Eng- 
lish too. I don’t mean I am only for France, but it is 
a different sort of feeling. France — the beauty of it — 
seems to be pulling me. I hate to think of it all over- 
run with war. It is so beautiful there, I want to help 
them. I have been thinking about it ever since the war 
began, so it is no new thing with me. Jimmie has just 
thought of it, about a week ago. I asked him not to say 
anything about me, so none of his family are to blame 
for not telling you. He tried to make me tell you and 
mother, but I thought I had better not. Morton and 
Clara Clifford know, and Mort wanted to lend me the 
money to go over, but I didn’t take it. I am going to 
work my way over. I expect to draw cartoons and war 
pictures for the weeklies. I shall probably make quite a 
good deal that way. 

Juliet has been a brick. I made her promise not to 
tell until I had gone, so don’t scold her. Dear old Dad, 
I’m awfully sorry to have worried you so. I’ll make 
good some day, you see if I don’t. I hope to get into the 
Ambulance Corps, or perhaps the Aviation. I have al- 
ways wanted to fly. I’ll see when I get over there what 
can be done to manage it. I’ll look up Eddie Escott, if 
it is a possible thing. Good-by. Tell Nickie he almost 
caught me at Clyde Corners. I didn’t intend to go there, 
but I had to do something so I took a walk and got 
caught in the thunder storm, and that was so near and 

280 


TWO O’CLOCK 


seemed something like home. Juliet came right up to 
the scratch. She always does. Fm writing to mother. 
Love. 

Phil. 

They all heard this. The letter to his mother 
no one but his mother ever read. 

It seemed to Juliet that night that her uncle 
had grown older in a day. He showed in his 
face what the day had done to him. He was a 
good-looking man, tall and broad, with a smooth- 
shaven face that usually wore an expression of 
prosperous good-nature. The world had gone 
well with him thus far. He was fairly well off, he 
had a charming wife and attractive children, he 
was popular, and it was always easy for him to 
be pleasant. Things had as a rule happened as 
he preferred that they should happen; his word 
had been law in his own family, and his opinion 
was respected by others. He rather expected 
others to do as he suggested. To have Philip, 
a boy of nineteen, suddenly strike out for himself 
and do what he himself wished to do without re- 
gard to the expressed wishes of his father, came 
to Mr. Rufford as a shock from which it was dif- 
ficult for him to rally. It would have been dif- 
ferent, he said to himself, if the two had not al- 
ways been such good friends. He was a man 
who cared deeply for his children, and he won- 
281 


THE WARING GIRLS 


dered now as to how he had fallen short. He 
could not yet realize that there was something in 
his younger son that was stronger than affection, 
stronger^^ indeed, than life itself, which, if it were 
thwarted, would grow rather than diminish in 
strength, and would lead its possessor to do 
strange things if it were not allowed to find a 
natural outlet. 

The next day was a clear and beautiful Sunday. 
Nickie went off early to spend the day with Bertha, 
and Mrs. Waring and Juliet made ready for 
church. Juliet was sitting on the piazza waiting 
for her mother when she saw one of the station 
hacks coming along the road. She watched it 
idly as the old horse jogged along, thinking as she 
did so that a horse was a rare sight now among the 
many motor vehicles that were speeding over the 
road. To her surprise it turned in at the en- 
trance to her uncle’s place. She wondered who 
could be coming, for she could not see the pas- 
sengers, so closely were they shut in by the old 
leather curtains of the hack. 

It drew up at the steps, the door was opened, 
and a young man got out. Juliet rose to her feet 
and stood motionless. Her amazement was so 
great that she could not speak. The young man 
was Jim Waring. 

He turned and helped Clara Clifford to alight. 
282 


TWO O’CLOCK 


The station carriage drove away, and the two 
came up the steps. 

“Jimmie!” exclaimed Juliet. “Didn’t you go? 
Didn’t Phil go? And Clara! What does it 
mean? Where is Phil?” 

“He has gone,” said Jim. “I was stopped at 
the last minute. Mother is very ill, and I couldn’t 
leave. Mort Clifford has gone in my place.” 

“We came down to tell you about it,” said 
Clara; “we thought Mrs. Rufford would like to 
hear about it, as we saw the boys off.” 

“It was Clara’s idea to come,” said Jim; “I 
rather feel as if Mr. and Mrs. Rufford might not 
care much about seeing me. I couldn’t do any- 
thing with Phil, Juliet — about telling them he was 
going, I mean. Er — is — er — are you the only one 
down here?” 

“No, mother is here. She was staying here, and 
I came yesterday to tell Aunt Mildred what I 
knew about Phil’s going. He was at Clyde Cor- 
ners Friday, but no one saw him but me. He 
thought then that you were going.” 

“Yes. He didn’t hear I wasn’t until Saturday 
morning, just before he sailed. I didn’t decide to 
go myself until about a week ago. I tried to get 
him to tell his mother, but he wouldn’t do it, and 
of course I couldn’t give him away. Father and 
mother were off on the yacht when she was taken 
283 


THE WARING GIRLS 


suddenly ill and they had to put in at Portland. 
They telegraphed for me, and brought her to New 
York. I met them on the way. She was operated 
on yesterday. Of course I couldn’t leave. We 
didn’t know whether she would pull through, but 
she is doing very well so far. I ran across Mort 
Clifford and when I told him I had given up going 
abroad he decided on the spot to take my place. 
He was going later anyhow, you know, and he 
rather fancied joining Phil, and also having the 
fun of working his way over. It was Clara’s idea 
for us to come down here this morning. We found 
there was a train from New York at nine, and 
we just got it. May I see Mr. Rufford?” 

In a few minutes Jim had been taken up to Mrs. 
Rufford’s room, and was telling Phil’s father and 
mother all that he could about their boy’s depar- 
ture. 

Mrs. Waring decided to go to church alone, 
and Juliet and Clara were left together. 

“We only have a little while to stay,” said 
Clara. “The hack is coming back to take us to 
the train. There is one at twelve o’clock which 
Jim says he must be sure to get, for he wants to 
get back as soon as possible to hear how his mother 
is. Poor old Jimmie I There is something on his 
mind besides his mother. I don’t know just what 
it is, but I have my suspicions I” 

284 


TWO O’CLOCK 


‘Tt was awfully good of you to come down, 
Clara,” said Juliet, wishing to turn the sub- 
ject 

“Oh, I wanted to! I haven’t seen you for an 
age, and I hardly think Jim would have come by 
himself. He is in such a queer state. He didn’t 
seem to want to see any of you. I suggested his 
going out to Clyde Corners, and telling some of 
you there about Phil, but he wouldn’t listen to 
that, so finally I persuaded him to come down 
here, and I came too, for I was afraid if I didn’t 
he would find some excuse for backing out at the 
last minute. He kept asking me if I knew if any 
of you were here — which of you girls. I told him 
that you and Cyntra were both at home when I 
last heard from you. I was determined to get 
him to see some of you.” 

“That was nice of you, Clara I” 

“Oh, it was nothing! You see, I knew from 
having Mort go how hard it is. Mother is quite 
broken up by it. I shouldn’t have realized what 
it is at all if Mort hadn’t gone, and we knew about 
his going and could see him off, and be sure that 
he had the right things to take with him, and 
everything. We made Phil take some things, too. 
It must be frightful for Mrs. Rufford to have Phil 
actually run away from home 1” 

“It is,” said Juliet, gravely; “a boy has no right 


THE WARING GIRLS 


to do a thing like that. It is too hard for his 
people. It is selfish.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is — ^but I can understand it. 
You can’t, I suppose, because you aren’t a bit sel- 
fish yourself.” 

Juliet colored. “Oh, I am!” she said hastily. 
“I like my own way as much as anyone.” 

“No, you aren’t selfish. You showed that in 
being so perfectly splendid about that old valen- 
tine fuss, Ju. I shan’t soon forget it. You were a 
perfect old brick. And that is why I did my best 
to get Phil to stay at home, or at least to tell his 
mother about it, but I hadn’t the slightest influ- 
ence. I might as well have talked to a stone wall. 
Do you think your aunt would care to see me?” 

“Yes, I think she would. I’ll go and see.^’ Ju- 
liet went as far as the front door. Then she 
turned and came back. “Thank you, Clara I” she 
said softly. 

Clara jumped up and threw her arms around 
her friend. “The idea of your thanking me!” 
she exclaimed, more impulsively than she usually 
spoke. “I ought to thank you — on my knees! 
What an old goose you are, Ju!” 

“So are you!” retorted Juliet, as she ran off. 

In the upper hall she met Jim, as he left Mrs. 
Rufford’s room. 

“I was just going down to get Clara,” he said. 

286 


TWO O’CLOCK 


‘‘Mrs. Rufford wants to see her, and Mr. Rufford 
is coming down to talk with me. I think he would 
rathet* like to have a little talk with me alone.” 

“I’ll stay up here, then,” said Juliet. She hesi- 
tated an instant. Then she followed Jim to the 
top of the stairs. He was already half way down. 
Should she speak? She looked hastily around. 
Her uncle and aunt were talking together in the 
room. She could hear the low murmur of their 
voices. Clara was still out on the porch. There 
would not again be so auspicious a moment as 
this. She stood in the hall and leaned over the 
bannister. “Jimmie I” she said. 

He looked up from the stairs. Her face was 
intense in its expression of earnestness. He saw 
that what she was about to say was of impor- 
tance. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“If you can possibly manage it, go out to Clyde 
Corners this afternoon. Go out and see Cyntra. 
If you don’t find her at home, wait until she comes 
in.” 

His face changed. “I can’t possibly do it,” he 
said; “you don’t know what you are asking. You 
don’t understand.” 

“I understand perfectly. I know very well. It 
is you who doesn’t understand. Go out to Clyde 
Corners and see Cyntra. If you don’t — well, if 
287 


THE WARING GIRLS 


you don’t, Jimmie, you will be making the biggest 
mistake you ever made in your life.” 

Then she turned away and disappeared within 
her aunt’s room. Jimmie went downstairs, and 
presently Clara came up. 


CHAPTER XVII 


IN THE GREEN WOODS 


I' 




T he journey back to New York seemed 
long and tedious to Jim Waring. The 
train stopped at nearly every station, at 
intervals of three or four minutes. He made no 
effort whatever to be agreeable, and Clara was 
relieved when he went off to the smoking-car and 
left her to her book. 

‘‘Poor old Jimmie!” she said to herself. “It 
is easy to see what is the matter with him, and it 
is a waste of time on my part to try to amuse him. 
There is only one girl in the world for him, and 
her name is not Clara Clifford! I’m glad he’s 
gone, and I hope he’ll enjoy the stuffy old smok- 
ing-car. I like the man in this book much better 
than I do him !” 

It made little difference to Jim that the smok- 
ing-car was stuffy. His one desire was to get away 
from Clara Clifford’s “prattle,” as he called it. 
He decided that with one great exception, all girls 
were more or less tiresome. Strange, how differ- 
289 


THE WARING GIRLS 


ent Cyntra was from every other girl in the world I 
Still more strange that so remarkable a person 
should have come into his life. It was good to be 
still in the same country that she inhabited I How 
insane he had been, only the day before yesterday, 
when he had had every intention of leaving that 
favored country for an indefinite time ! Perhaps it 
would have been forever. If it had not been for 
his mother’s illness — he pulled himself up short. 
His mother I He could hardly wait to get back 
to town to find out how she was. The report had 
been decidedly encouraging that morning, or he 
would not have gone even so short a distance away 
from her as the trip to Oyster Bay, but he had 
been assured by the doctor that it was perfectly 
safe for him to do so, and his father thought that 
it was his duty to see the Ruffords. It was a lucky 
thing, he said to himself, that it was Juliet who 
was down there, and not Cyntra. He could not 
have borne seeing Cyntra. No, the only thing for 
him to do was not to see her. It was absurd for 
Juliet to think for an instant that he would go out 
to Clyde Corners. Why should he? He had no 
intention of going near the place. He would spend 
the afternoon — well, he did not know exactly how 
he would spend the afternoon, but certainly not 
in visiting Clyde Corners. If Cyntra had wished 
to see him — if by any possibility she had changed 
290 


IN THE GREEN WOODS 


her mind — changed her mind! Was that what 
Juliet had meant? 

He sat up straight and stared out of the win- 
dow, but he saw nothing. Juliet had said that she 
understood. Those had been her very words : “I 
understand perfectly, it is you who don’t under- 
stand. Go out to Clyde Corners and see Cyntra. 
If you don’t, you will be making the biggest mis- 
take you ever made in your life.” What did she 
mean? What could she have meant but the one 
thing? And you could trust Juliet. She was not 
a flighty little flibbertigibbet like Clara Clifford. 
She had a lot of good sense, old Ju 1 Should he 
go? Shouldn’t he? Should he? Thus the rails 
sang to Jim Waring as the “Sunday local” made 
its slow and tedious trip back to New York; and 
even when they had reached the big Pennsylvania 
Station, and he was helping Clara to alight — even 
then he had not yet made up his mind as to what 
he had better do. 

In the meantime at Clyde Corners life was 
going on about as usual. Great events take place, 
trouble and suffering come into the experience of 
those nearest to us, or into our own, and yet the 
daily routine continues almost precisely as it did 
before. So thought Cyntra as she made her bed, 
straightened up her room, and dressed for church. 
Phil and — and — one whom she looked upon as a 
291 


THE WARING GIRLS 


very close friend, were on the water. Every mo- 
ment that the clock ticked was taking them farther 
from the United States and nearer to France — 
nearer to that awful and mysterious “Front,” 
where death and destruction and human suffering 
reigned supreme, the horrors of which were far 
beyond the powers of human description to make 
known — it was there that Phil — and Jim ! — would 
be before many weeks, and here was she, making 
beds, dusting, looking in the glass and tipping her 
hat a little more to the left! What did she care 
about her hat ? She thrust in a hat pin and turned 
away from the mirror. She believed she would 
not go to church after all. Mildred and George 
would go with their father; she would stay at 
home and — and cry. Then she caught herself 
up. 

“Of course I am going to church!” she thought. 
“If I am in trouble — and I seem to be — surely 
church is the best place for me. It may be that 
something will be read, or preached, or prayed, 
that will help me to bear this dreadful feeling of 
misery. And at least I can pray myself that — 
that — Jimmie will come back safe! That some 
day I — I — shall see him again !” 

So she went to church with the family, and she 
was glad that she had done so, for she came home 
in a more quiet frame of mind. Jimmie had gone, 
292 


IN THE GREEN WOODS 


and it was too late now to tell him how mistaken 
she had been. Some day the war would be over, 
and then, possibly, she could tell him, if he were 
still alive — and if he still felt the same I In the 
meantime she must bear the suffering, as thousands 
of other women were bearing it. In war all must 
suffer, the men in one way, the women in another. 

In the afternoon she went to walk alone. Ad- 
miral Kent came in to see her father, and the 
yoUnger children were with their friends. 

“Now I am sure you were going with her,” said 
the Admiral, as Cyntra came out of the front door 
and paused a moment on the piazza where the two 
men were sitting. “Don’t let me keep you from 
a walk, Waring. I can see you at another time, 
just as well.” 

“I wasn’t going to walk,” said Mr. Waring. 
“There is nothing I would rather do than sit here 
and have a smoke and a talk with you. If I feel 
like it later I will come to meet you, Cyntra. In 
which direction are you going?” 

“Just up in the woods somewhere. I’ll go to 
that nice little place, father, where the trees are 
so tall, where we like to sit, you know, and I will 
come back by our favorite path. Perhaps you can 
persuade Admiral Kent to come with you.” 

She turned and smiled at them both, and waved 
her hand as she crossed the road to take the path 

293 


THE WARING 'GIRLS 


up the hill. She wore a summer gown of white 
and a sailor hat, and she had put on a green 
sweater, for the weather was still cool. 

“A charming little girl. Waring!” said Admiral 
Kent; “you are a lucky fellow to have three such 
daughters.” 

“I know I am, and I fully appreciate niy good 
luck. Cyntra was brought up so differently from 
her sisters that I think it is quite remarkable that 
she has fitted in so well over here, but she has an 
unusually sweet nature, combined with a good deal 
of strength.” 

“She is remarkable, I tell you, and a very charm- 
ing girl!” 

Cyntra walked up the hill, perfectly unconscious 
of the praise that was being bestowed upon her. 
It would have surprised her immensely could she 
have heard it. She was not given to self-consider- 
ation of any kind. She seldom thought about her- 
self at all, and in that lay a large part of her 
charm. She was entirely unselfish, as a rule, and 
it was only when some great crisis came that she 
did not think first of the claims of others. At a 
time like this she felt that for a little while she 
must be alone, until she could regain her usual 
serenity and cheerfulness. When that was accom- 
plished she would return to the family life and 
bear her part in it as before. She knew that if she 
294 


IN THE GREEN WOODS 


could have an hour or two to herself, up in the 
woods, with only the trees and the sky above, and 
the soft carpet of moss below, with only the wood 
sounds and the breeze among the leaves, she would 
think it all out, and be ready when she met her 
father to be a responsive companion once more. 
She was glad that their neighbor had come in to 
see him, for it gave her the chance to readjust 
herself. 

She took off her hat, and seating herself on an 
old log she leaned back against the trunk of a tree. 
She had often sat here before. It was one of her 
favorite walks. It was along this path that she 
and Jim had walked that afternoon in May when 
he had told her that he loved her, and she had 
said that she did not care for him as she cared 
for her own family. Strange that she could ever 
have taken that view! It was only two months 
ago, and now she knew that she would be per- 
fectly willing to leave her family and go alone to 
the ends of the earth for the mere chance of seeing 
Jim again. Why did she not know it then? The 
feeling must have been there. It could not have 
grown to such amazing strength as it now pos- 
sessed if it had not already been in her heart in 
May. She could not understand it. There was 
no use in trying to understand it. That it existed 
was enough. She must try to bear it. 

295 


THE WARING GIRLS 


She had sat there for a long time — she did not 
know how long, but it was really more than an 
hour — when she heard approaching footsteps and 
the crackling of underbrush. It was probably her 
father. They had found that not as many people 
came up here in summer as in the early spring. 
Many were away, or spent the afternoon in mo- 
toring, and most of the townspeople were on the 
river in canoes, or strolling along its banks. She 
straightened herself, and looked to see him emerge 
from the woods. 

But it was not her father. Cyntra sat staring. 
Then she rose to her feet and stood motionless. 
It was Jim Waring. He advanced slowly along 
the narrow path. He pushed aside the overhang- 
ing bushes and came out into the clearing. Then 
he stood still. At last he found his voice. 

“Aren’t you going to speak to me, Cyntra?” he 
asked. 

“Is it — is it — you?^^ She could scarcely utter 
the words. “I — I — thought you had gone ! Are 
you really here? Aren’t you on the ocean? Am 
I dreaming?” 

He took a step nearer. “You aren’t dreaming. 
I didn’t go. Mother is very ill. At the last min- 
ute I had to give it up. I saw Juliet this morning 
down at Oyster Bay. I went down to tell them 
about Phil. Juliet said you were at home, and I 
296 


IN THE GREEN WOODS 


have come out to — Cyntra, IVe got to know if — 
there is any chance of your changing your mind. 
I was going because I couldn’t stand it, after what 
you told me in May. I found I couldn’t*come out 
to see you after that. I don’t want to be just 
friends. I care for you a great deal more than 
that, you know. So I thought I had better go 
over with Phil. I didn’t tell you, because — well, 
I couldn’t. I tried to write, but it was impossible. 
It seemed better just to go, without writing or 
saying anything, and you would probably under- 
I stand, and perhaps wouldn’t care so very much. 

I Then mother was taken ill very suddenly, and of 
! course I couldn’t leave. And now I’ve come out 
; today to see — to ask you — to find out — oh, hang 
I it, I don’t seem able to talk straight, but you 
must know, what I mean, Cyntra. Somehow you 
look as if perhaps — perhaps — ^you may be 
i different from — from — last May. You were so 
i pale for a minute, but you’re getting more color 
j now.” 

She had recovered herself. They stood in si- 
; lence for a moment. Then she went to him, and 
putting her two hands upon his shoulders, she 
i looked up into his face. 

! “Jimmie, I do care now! I care very much. It 
j is very different. I think I must have cared all the 
i time, only I didn’t know it. I was so stupid I I 
297 


THE WARING GIRLS 


found it out when I heard that you had gone. Oh, 
Jimmie dear, I care with all my heart!” 

The sun was low in the west when they walked 
down the hill on their way home. Mr. Waring 
had not come to meet Cyntra. When Jim had 
appeared from the station, and after telling Mr. 
Waring how he happened to be there instead of 
on the ocean, had inquired as to Cyntra’s where- 
abouts, Mr. Waring had decided after one keen 
glance at his face that he himself would not take 
a walk that afternoon, or if he did, that he pre- 
ferred the river path 1 He gave Jim exact direc- 
tions, and resolutely turned the other way. So he 
would have to give up Cyntra, just as he had 
grown used to having her about I He did not see 
how he could give her up, but it was the way of 
the world. Daughters, alas, were only too apt 
not to stay with fathers! And Jim was a very 
good fellow, and there was no doubt about his de- 
votion to Cyntra. He would take good care of 
her. Mr. Waring sighed, knocked the ashes from 
his pipe, and went down to the river’s edge. The 
Admiral had long since gone home. 

And when the two came home in the sunset hour, 
their faces shining with a radiance as beautiful as 
that which came from the western sky, the father 
opened his arms, and Cyntra walked straight into 
them and hid her face in his shoulder. 

298 


IN THE GREEN WOODS 


*T know all about it, darling,” he whispered, 
stroking her soft hair, which was all that he could 
see ; ‘‘and if it has got to be anybody. I’m glad that 
it’s Jim. Jimmie, my boy, you’re a lucky fellow. 
See that you deserve your good luck!” 

“I don’t deserve it in the least, Mr. Waring! 
What is she thinking of, anyway? Why should 
she take me?^* 

Cyntra raised her head and laughed. She held 
out her hand to him. “Just out of pity, Jimmie, 
of course!” Then her head went down again. 
“Oh, Daddy dearest, the idea of my joking about 
it, when only a little while ago I was in such de- 
spair because I thought he had gone !” 

“Well, I’m glad you remembered to come home, 
for it is supper time. Of course you are going to 
stay, Jim.” 

“He can’t, father, for his mother is very ill and 
he must get back to her, so I will walk down to 
the station with him, and if I’m late for supper, 
never mind. I’m not a bit hungry.” 

“I think we can save a crust for you, my dear ! 
I may keep you on bread and water for a week, 
now I come to think of it. You deserve some 
sort of punishment for getting engaged ! And, by 
the way, you never asked my permission! You 
are getting to be too much of a Yankee. A well- 
brought-up English young man and young woman 
299 


THE WARING GIRLS 


would never dream of taking things into their own 
hands like this I” 

“Oh, you are behind the times, Dad dearest I 
They are different now over there from what they 
were when you were young.” 

He smiled ruefully as he watched them walk 
down the street. “When you were young!” He 
was barely forty-seven, and he had not yet be- 
gun to think of himself as old, although he knew 
that time was fast approaching. No doubt to 
those two young scamps walking off so happily, so 
entirely absorbed in themselves, he would seem a 
fitting companion for Methuselah! However, 
there was one person who would not look upon 
him in this manner, and he wished she were at 
home. Then he laughed at himself and grew 
cheerful. Pauline would be coming tomorrow! 
He only trusted that the youngsters would be as 
happy as he and Pauline had been all these years. 

Mildred was the first of the family to hear the 
news. As Cyntra walked back from the station 
she saw her younger sister coming to meet her. 

“We are all through supper,” she announced, 
as soon as she got within shouting distance ; 
“where have you been? There are no cut peaches 
left, and just a little bit of the cream toast. 
George was awfully hungry, and I was, too. 
Father said no matter, as probably you were sat- 
300 


IN THE GREEN WOODS 


isfied with the greatest thing in the world. I asked 
him if you had had a water melon, but he only 
laughed. Have you had a water melon, Cyntra ? 
That is the biggest fruit I ever saw. I wish we 
had them oftener. It’s mean that no one else 
likes them. Where did you have it?” 

“Mildred, what are you talking about?” in- 
quired Cyntra, gazing at her abstractedly. 

“Water melons. Have you had some?” 

“Of course not! I don’t care for them.” 

“I thought you didn’t. Then what have you 
had?” 

“Nothing since dinner.” 

“You haven’t? Then what did father mean?” 

“You will have to ask him.” 

Mildred pondered for a minute or so. Then 
she decided to begin upon a new line of questions. 
“Where have you been?” 

“To the station.” 

“Have you? What for?” 

“Jimmie came out, and I walked down with 
him.” 

“Jimmie who?” 

“Waring, of course. What other Jimmie do 
we know?” 

“I know several, and as Jim Waring went off 
with Phil yesterday, I don’t see how it could be 
him.” 


301 


THE WARING GIRLS 


“He didn’t go. I forgot you didn’t know about 
it.’’ 

“Didn’t he? Why didn’t he?’’ 

“His mother is very ill. They thought perhaps 
she wouldn’t get over it, but she is better today. 
He is going to telephone as soon as he finds out 
how she is this evening, so I must hurry.*’ 

“Why, he’s just left I You’re a silly, Cyntra. 
You look very queer. Your cheeks are a very 
deep pink, and your eyes are very shiny. What 
makes your eyes so shiny?’’ 

“I don’t know. I’m sure. Mildred, don’t stare 
so!’’ 

“ ‘A cat may look at a king,’ ’’ quoted Mildred 
calmly, “and a kitten may look at her grown-up 
sister — and I believe I know what it is! I be- 
lieve I know what has happened ! And, oh dear, 
I wasn’t anywhere round to see, or hear, or any- 
thing else ! Oh, if I’d only known he was coming 
I never would have gone off for the whole after- 
noon! It would have been so much more inter- 
esting at home! I thought he had gone away 
and nothing would happen for at least a year. 
Cyntra, won’t you please tell me one thing? Did 
he go down on his knees, both knees, or just one 
knee, or has that fashion entirely changed? I 
think those books where they do it that way are 
very old-fashioned. They certainly are about 
302 


IN THE GREEN WOODS 


other things, but mother won’t let me read any 
new-fashioned novels, and so I can’t find out how 
proposals are done now, except from you or Ju- 
liet. Now I don’t believe Juliet is ever going to 
be engaged. She says she isn’t and so I wish you 
would tell me just what Jimmie said — just how 
he did it. Do please tell me before you have time 
to forget it.” 

**You ridiculous child!” said Cyntra, laughing 
as she tucked Mildred’s arm through hers. “I 
shall never forget it, though I shan’t ever tell you. 
People don’t tell those things. But I will tell you 
that Jimmie and I are engaged, and I’m the hap- 
piest girl in the world tonight, and please kiss me, 
darling, and tell me you’re glad.” 

They had reached their own piazza. Mildred 
turned upon the upper step and throwing her arms 
around her sister’s neck as Cyntra stood on the 
S step below, she kissed her heartily. “I think 
i you’re a meanie not to tell me what he said and 
I what you said, but I’m very glad you are engaged 
i to Jim, and some day I may be able to get a de- 
[I scription of it out of him. I shall be very glad 
; to have a real grown-up brother, instead of just 
, little tiny George, who is so much younger and so 
much smaller than I am myself. As I am all 
j through supper, Cyntra, I think I will go in and 
see Alice Cornish for a minute. I don’t believe 


THE WARING GIRLS 


she has ever had an engagement in her family, 
and she’ll be so interested.” 

“Of course you are not going in there !” ex- 
claimed Cyntra. “The idea of telling Alice Cor- 
nish! What are you thinking of, Mildred? 
Why, mother and Juliet don’t know it yet, and 
Jimmie’s father and mother don’t know it I Just 
stay at home, please, and don’t breathe it to any- 
body until I say you may.” 

“Oh, goodness!” grumbled Mildred. Then a 
thought occurred to her, and her face became 
wreathed in smiles. “Well, at any rate, it is some- 
thing to know all about it before anyone else, even 
before the father and mother of the groom ! May 
I be a bridesmaid, Cyntra? Or a flower girl? 
Oh, it would be perfect to be a flower girl! 
Please, please let me!” 

“You absurd child, that won’t be for ages! 
Not for ever and ever so long. There is the tele- 
phone ringing! It may be Jimmie already.” 

She ran into the house, glad to escape for the 
moment from Mildred’s somewhat inconvenient 
interest. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A LETTER FROM PHIL 

T he engagement of Cyntra and Jim gave 
entire satisfaction to both families of 
Waring but there was a difference of 
opinion as to the proper length of time which 
should elapse before the wedding. Cyntra’s 
father wished it to be at least a year, but Jim’s 
father was equally desirous that the wedding 
should take place in the autumn or at Christmas 
time. They finally compromised and decided that 
it should be at Easter, and now the most import- 
ant matter was to find a suitable house for the 
young people to live in. It was to be at Clyde 
Corners, and was to be the gift of Jim’s father 
and mother to their only son. The great ques- 
tion in the minds of all was now as to which house 
it should be. There were two available places, 
each with a house of considerable size upon it, 
and both within easy walking distance of Cyntra’s 
present home on Lyman Street. 

Cyntra and Juliet had been to look at one of 
them on an afternoon in January. The summer 

305 


THE WARING GIRLS 


had passed and then the autumn and early winter. 
Juliet was back at school, and therefore had not 
before had an opportunity to go over this house, 
which the others had been considering for the past 
week. 

‘‘You would be very grand, Cyntra, in a house 
like that,” she was saying, as they walked briskly 
toward home. 

“Entirely too grand, I think,” said Cyntra. 
“Somehow it doesn’t seem quite right.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“I feel as if we oughtn’t to begin that way.” 

“But it isn’t as if you were doing it yourselves. 
Mr. Waring is giving it to you. I suppose he has 
lots of money and wants Jim to have a good 
house.” 

“Yes, I know!” Cyntra hesitated; then she 
added as they reached their own gate : “but I can’t 
make it seem right. There is so much suffering — 
people with no homes at all — why should we have 
it all made so easy and comfortable for us? Ju- 
liet, I think I will go in next door for a little 
while. I haven’t been to see Mrs. Cornish and 
Miss Snow for ever so long, and they have both 
been so kind. That was such a lovely tea-table 
cover that Miss Snow sent me for an engagement 
present. Just think of her doing it for me!” 

“I’m glad she decided not to come back to 
306 


A LETTER FROM PHIL 


school,” said Juliet, in a whisper. “It is cer- 
tainly much more serene without her, and we have 
a nice teacher now in mathematics. You needn’t 
give Miss S. my love, Cyntra !” 

“Indeed I won’t! I’ll take my own, for I do 
like her in spite of her eccentricities !” 

“You manage in some way to get the best out 
of her. It is quite beyond me.” 

Juliet went into their own house, and Cyntra 
the short distance to their neighbors’. She found 
Miss Snow to be the only one at home, and she 
was at once asked to come upstairs. 

“Excuse my not coming down, Cyntra,” said 
Miss Snow, as her visitor entered her room, “but 
you see what I am doing. I couldn’t leave it, and 
I will just keep right on, if you don’t mind.” 

She was seated at a table near one of the win- 
dows. Piles of gauze cut in squares, heaps of 
bandages ready for rolling, and a little rolling 
machine fastened to her table, showed what her 
work was. 

“I feel as if I ought not to lose a minute. Those 
poor creatures I I only wish I had four pairs of 
hands. I only wish I were a man, and a young 
man! I’d go. I’d do something. We ought to 
help more. We’re not doing enough. I have no 
money to give and so I’m doing all I can of this 
work, but it isn’t half enough. They have al- 

307 


THE WARING GIRLS 


lowed me to do it at home — the Surgical Dress- 
ings Committee.” 

‘‘Let me help you,” said Cyntra, taking off her 
gloves and jacket and drawing a chair up to the 
table. “Fve been doing it all summer at the 
rooms, you know, so you needn’t look at me so 
doubtfully. Miss Snow! I will do it the right 
way.” 

“I wasn’t thinking of that, Cyntra. I am sure 
you know how to do it. I was thinking of some- 
thing quite different, and I believe I will tell you 
what it is. I believe in speaking frankly — in say- 
ing a thing right out. I should think you would 
wish to work hard at these things, and at every- 
thing else connected with the war.” 

“You mean because I am half English? I feel 
so myself, very strongly.” 

“I mean much more than that. Oh, I mean 
very much more I Mrs. Cornish says I am tak- 
ing the war too hard, that I will make myself ill 
thinking about the horrors of it. Well, I don’t 
care if I do, I’ve got to think about it, and I must 
say that I should think you would be very uncom- 
fortable about it, very uncomfortable indeed 1” 

“Why, Miss Snow, what do you mean?” Cyntra 
paused in her bandage-rolling and looked across 
the table in wide-eyed astonishment. It was evi-^ 
dent that Miss Snow was deeply in earnest. She 
308 


A LETTER FROM PHIL 


spoke with a certain fire and emphasis which one 
who had ever been her pupil could at once recog- 
nize as meaning a sharp reproof. 

“I believe in saying precisely what I mean. No 
half-way measures will do for me I” Miss Snow 
folded and patted her strip of gauze, laid the 
finished dressing on a heap already done, counted 
the pile to see if there were ten, and proceeded 
to make ready another. ‘7 should think you would 
feel very uncomfortable. You have deprived the 
Allies of a man! There are few enough going 
from this country. We ought to be in the war 
ourselves and sending an army, but we are not, 
more’s the pity, so every American who goes 
counts I I have only recently heard the details of 
your engagement. At first I didn’t know about 
it. If I had known, I should never have spent my 
time embroidering that table cover. I should have 
been much better employed In making bandages. 
I learned it from Alice only yesterday. Mildred 
had told her some time ago, but Alice had not told 
me before, that young Mr. Waring was almost 
off to the war; that you all thought he had gone, 
and then at the last minute he stayed at home and 
became engaged to you, and he Isn’t going at all 
now. Perfectly disgraceful, I call It. Perfectly 
disgraceful.” 

Cyntra was silent. She was so angry, so filled 

309 


THE WARING GIRLS 


with wrath at Miss Snow for looking at the mat- 
ter in what seemed to her an entirely false light, 
that she dared not speak. She twirled her ma- 
chine rapidly and said nothing until she had rolled 
her bandage, turned in the end and pinned it, put 
in the safety-pin, and placed the finished product 
in the basket with those already done. Then she 
ventured to reply. Her voice was quiet and 
steady. Miss Snow did not suspect how angry 
she was. 

“You probably did not hear the whole story,” 
she said. “Jim didn’t stay at home on my ac- 
count. We weren’t engaged when he gave up 
going. His mother was desperately ill. She was 
taken suddenly ill the day before he was to sail. 
They brought her to New York and she was op- 
erated on the very day he was to have gone. Of 
course he could not and would not leave her then. 
It would have been a dreadful thing for him to 
do. Mrs. Waring has told me since that she 
wouldn’t have come through the operation as she 
did if he had gone, and she asked him, the very 
first time she saw him after it was over, not to 
go, and he promised her he wouldn’t, and she be- 
gan to get better immediately. It had been ter- 
ribly on her mind. Now of course her nerves are 
very much used up by the operation, and the doc- 
tors say that it is very important that she should 
310 


A LETTER FROM PHIL 


have nothing to worry her or make her anxious, 
and they said they would not answer for the con- 
sequences if Jim were to go now!” 

“Hml” said Miss Snow. “Then you are not 
the one who is keeping him at home? I am 
glad to hear it. Of course this is a very different 
story. But I consider his mother very much to 
blame.” 

Cyntra made no reply, and in a few minutes 
she went home. Miss Snow had succeeded in 
making her feel uncomfortable now if she had 
not felt so before. Juliet saw her face when she 
came in, and at once suspected that something had 
gone wrong. 

“How did you find our sweet neighbor?” she 
asked. “Was she on the war-path as usual? Was 
she as amiable as of old?” 

“Just about,” returned Cyntra, and then 
changed the subject so abruptly that Juliet was 
convinced that her surmises were correct. Miss 
Snow must have said something disagreeable for 
it was easy to see that Cyntra was much disturbed 
by her call next door. 

Jim came out that evening to supper. Cyntra 
had by that time regained much of her habitual 
serenity, but Miss Snow’s remarks still lingered 
in her memory and try as she would to appear as 
usual, It was evident to those about her that she 

311 


THE WARING GIRLS 


was troubled. She was absent-minded at times, 
and her face wore a preoccupied expression which 
even the presence of Jim did not altogether ban- 
ish. 

“What could Miss Snow have said to her?” 
thought Juliet. “It was something that happened 
in there, I’m sure. The same old Miss Snow, 
saying things that prick you, even though you 
make up your mind with all your might not to 
mind them. I’ll make a diversion by reading them 
Phil’s letter.” As they were leaving the supper 
table she told them that a letter had come that af- 
ternoon. “The others have all read it but you, 
Cyntra, as you were out when it came, so perhaps 
you and Jim would like to hear it now.” 

“Indeed we would!” they both exclaimed eag- 
erly, and followed her into the living-room. “I 
have only had one scrap of a note from him since 
he went,” added Jim ; “just think, it is six months 
since I just didn’t go I Suppose I had gone with- 
out knowing, and didn’t know even now — oh, I 
don’t want even to think of it!” 

Again Cyntra’s face clouded. Juliet happened 
to glance at her as Jim said this, and she won- 
dered what it meant. Surely it could not be that 
Cyntra was not happy in her engagement — and 
yet it was because Jim made this remark that her 
expression had changed. Juliet felt vaguely anx- 
312 


A LETTER FROM PHIL 


ious. Something was wrong! She opened her 
letter and began to read : 

Somewhere in France. 

Dec. lOth. 

Dear Juliet: 

Eve been meaning to write to you for ever so long, 
but we have mighty little time, I can tell you. Of 
course you know that so far Pm still whole and getting 
along all right, for Eve managed to write to mother pretty 
regularly, and she probably passes on the news. I want 
you to write to me when you can and tell me just how 
mother is. She’s a brick about writing and of course she 
says she’s as fit as a fiddle, but she’s probably putting up 
the biggest kind of a bluff, and Ed like to know from you 
exactly how she is. Does she feel all right now about 
my being over here? Of course Em a bit homesick some- 
times, and especially so now, round about Christmas time, 
but Em not the only fellow who is, and Em getting on all 
right. 

I was wonderfully lucky about getting into it right 
off. You see Mort had some sort of a pull with the big 
ones, and as he’s such a wonder with a car, and knows 
all about motors from A to Z, they soon sent him to 
the Front, and he asked to have me come too. At first 
I was just a stretcher bearer, but Eve picked up quite a 
lot from Mort and the others, so I can run the car now 
fairly well, and understand tinkering at it. Then my 
being able to speak French got me along too, and I did 
some sketches the fellows liked, and that helped too. I 
did the Major. He’s an old brick anyway, and I caught 
him fairly well. At any rate he liked it. I didn’t mean 
him to see it, of course, but one of the fellows who’s a 

313 


THE WARING GIRLS 


special pet of his showed it to him, and he patted me on 
the back, so to speak, and I managed to get out my best 
parlez-vous and placed the portrait at his disposal to do 
with whatever he wished, etc., etc., and the upshot of it 
was that he accepted it with his best respects, gratitude, 
appreciation and esteem and all the rest of it, and sent 
it off to Madame Major, and Fve been Venfant gate of 
everybody ever since, provided I keep on sketching! Of 
course Fm only too glad to be doing it, when other 
things aren’t happening, and they generally are. Oh, 
Ju, it’s awful! Fm not used to the horror of it even yet, 
and I don’t believe I ever shall be. It’s bad enough 
when you never knew the fellows you pick up, but some- 
times, often, you come across a fellow you were chatting 
and laughing with in the morning — what is left of him ! 

I suppose if I had realized one-sixteenth part of the 
horror I wouldn’t have come, it’s so sickening. Yes, I 
would too, for there’s a lot more to it. You feel over 
here as if you were doing something. You are not just 
sitting down and taking things easy the way we do at 
home. The deeper I get into it the more I feel sure I 
ought to be here, and so ought everyone who cares any- 
thing about liberty. We all talk a lot about what’s 
back of the war, and we know what we are doing it for. 

I mean we ambulance fellows. I think the United States 
ought to hurry up and take a definite stand. How can 
there be any two opinions about it is more than I can 
see. 1 

Later. Was called off there. My first night of any 
real work I nearly gave out, it was so awful. I very ^ 
nearly cut and ran. It was a close shave that you didn’t ' 
see me at home again and going into business to please 
father. I was homesick, and pretty well scared, and sim- 

314 


A LETTER FROM PHIL 


ply appalled. When the big machine guns get going — 
oh, Ju! Well I didn’t run away. I stayed on, and now 
I’ve no intention of giving up until the war is over, or 
until I’m blown to bits. There’s something about the 
Frenchies and the Tommies, and something about this 
fight that makes you see things in a bigger way than you 
ever did before. I came over here chiefly for my own 
little plans. I didn’t want to go into business, and I did 
want to paint, and I had a dim sort of a feeling that I’d 
like to help France. Well, I’m painting at odd moments, 
but that’s not the chief end and aim of my life now. 
I’m glad to do my bit by helping these fellows, little 
as I can do. And when you have once given yourself 

to it, why you never want to take yourself back 

We had a hurry call then. Awful affair. No more 
now. Chance for this to go. Love to all. 

Phil. 

When Juliet’s voice ceased no one spoke for a 
few minutes. The only sound was the crackling 
of the paper as she replaced the letter in its en- 
velope, and the snapping of the logs upon the 
hearth. It was a comfortable and charming 
scene. The room was warm and pleasant. The 
lamplight and the firelight made a cheerful glow, 
i The curtains were drawn to keep out the keen 
I wind of winter that was blowing and that occasion- 
I ally made the blinds rattle. It was all quiet and 
1 peaceful and safe within the room. In the minds 
1 of them all was a sense of the sharp contrast to 
I that which now surrounded Phil. He too had 


THE WARING GIRLS 


been accustomed all his life to just this comfort, 
this safety. So had most of the men who were 
daily giving up their lives. They too had come 
from homes which they had thought safe. Many 
of them, even if their lives were spared, would 
never see those homes again, for they were gone 
from the face of the earth, swept away in the 
fury and horror of modern warfare. 

These three young people were overwhelmed 
by all that the boyish letter had brought so vividly 
before them. Without a word having been said, 
Juliet got up and left the room. 

Jim turned to Cyntra. His face was as grave 
as hers, and the same look was in his eyes as that 
in hers which had troubled Juliet. It was the 
more marked in him, for Jim was usually so ready 
to laugh. He had gained his nickname because 
of his merry disposition, but he was by no means 
careless or flippant. On the contrary, he thought 
deeply at times. 

“Cyntra,” he said, “I’ve got to speak about it. 
I’ve tried to hide it from you, but lately it’s been 
worrying me a lot, and now this letter of Phil’s — ” 
he picked it up from the table where Juliet had 
laid it as she left the room, and opened it — “this 
last bit here, just before the end — ‘and when you 
have once given yourself to it, why, you never 
want to take yourself back.’ It’s just what I 
316 


A LETTER FROM PHIL 


did. I almost gave myself, and I took myself 
back.” 

“But you couldn’t help it, Jimmie!” exclaimed 
Cyntra, eager to defend him against himself. “It 
wasn’t your fault that you didn’t go, and you know 
what the doctors have both said since — that it 
would have a very bad effect on your mother if 
you were to leave and go over there, and per- 
haps — perhaps — be killed yourself, Jimmie. It 
would surely kill your mother, they both said.” 

“I know — I know all that, but still it worries 
me. I wish I knew some way of making up for 
it. If I could work for them over here, or some- 
thing.” 

“Oh, Jimmie, dear, I’m so glad youVe spoken 
of it ! I wanted you to be the one to speak first, 
but now I’ll tell you what I’ve thought of. It has 
been vaguely in my mind for some time, and 
something Miss Snow said this afternoon, though 
it made me perfectly furious for a little while, 
really brought it before me clearly, and I am 
thankful she was so disagreeable. She said we 
were shirking, you and I. That we ought to do 
our bit more than we are doing it. She had mis- 
understood the situation, but at the same time, I 
think she is right, and she really made me see it 
all very clearly. I believe we can both help more 
than we are doing, and we are so happy that I 

317 


THE WARING GIRLS 


think we ought to do more for other people who 
are not. Shall I tell you what I have thought 
of?” 

“I should say sol I was pretty sure you had 
something on your mind. I can always tell.” 

“So can I about you, and I felt sure it was 
about the same thing that you were worrying. 
Oh, it is such a comfort, isn’t it, to be able to talk 
things over together and say just what we like! 
Isn’t it, Jimmie? Tell me it’s a comfort 1” 

He told her — and then she went on. 

“There is something we can do, if your father 
is willing, and I’m sure he will agree, for he is 
such a dear.” 

“He will agree, for he adores his new daugh- 
ter, and will do anything she asks.” 

“Don’t be nonsensical, Jimmie, but listen.” 

“I’m all ready to listen, beloved, if you will 
only tell me what you want to say. I’ve been 
waiting ages to hear it.” 

“Well, it is this! Your father wants to buy 
us that large house with all that land about it, 
and furnish it for us. Now I think that house is 
entirely too grand for us to begin with. It would 
be so much better for us to start in a little house. 
Why, I should be perfectly satisfied in one as 
small as ours across the way. One like that would 
be quite big enough. Would your father be will- 

318 


A LETTER FROM PHIL 


ing, do you think, to let us give up the big place, 
and would he give the money it would cost, or at 
least a part of it, to help the Allies in some way? 
He could provide an ambulance, or do lots for a 
hospital, or provide flying machines, or take care 
of hundreds of fatherless children, or — oh, any 
number of important things, with the big sum he 
is ready to pay for that house and the allowance 
he wants to give you to keep it up. I don’t like 
the idea of taking so much, Jimmie. I think we 
ought to live on what you earn, and besides that, 
I would far rather live in a couple of rooms, if 
doing so would help my other country to win this 
war.” 

He looked at her in silence for a moment. “Be- 
loved,” he said at last, “I’m glad you’ve thought 
of such a wonderful way. Of course we’ll do it I 
Now we shall be doing our bit. If we didn’t — 
well, I should have ‘taken myself back,’ and it 
would always have worried us. I know I couldn’t 
help it, but I have been ashamed of doing it. I’m 
sure father will be willing in the end, even though 
he may object at first, for he will do anything to 
give you happiness, Cyntra. But I know he will 
agree with you as to the justice of it. He has 
done a lot for them already that no one knows 
about. He will like your thinking of it, and so 
will mother. They will be still more firmly con- 
319 


THE WARING GIRLS 


vinccd than they are now that I’m a lucky fellow. 
I’m rather inclined to think so myself.” 

“Don’t be a goose, Jimmie! You needn’t for 
an instant flatter yourself that the luck is all on 
your side.” 
















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